


time to run cause i'm seeing stars

by beggars_visored



Series: i'll chase you to the ends of the earth [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Art History, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Museums, Romantic Comedy, School, Teacher Harry, Teacher Liam, Teacher Zayn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-01-10 18:36:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beggars_visored/pseuds/beggars_visored
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Eventually Louis just ends up staring at his shoes and Harry swirls his champagne with great effort and intent, watching as the bubbles go around and around inside the glass, creating waves with new heights and trying to keep it inside the tall glass. Louis can’t help but wonder why he fell for Harry, and why he’s still so helplessly in love with him, after all this time."</p><p>Louis is now an art museum curator, and he's totally over old flame and former teaching colleague Harry....totally over him. Totally. Zayn and Niall are working through certain *bumps* in their relationship, and Liam's balancing two girls at the same time. Plus there's the return of a person Louis never thought he'd see again. So things are kind of complicated.</p><p>Sequel to "Don't Follow Me To Where I'll Go"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

           “Louis, are you coming? We’re gonna be late!”

            Running a hand through his already overly mussed-up hair, Louis Tomlinson tries to keep his tone civil as he screams back “I’m coming, just another minute!” Leave it to Liam, Mr. Slick-And-Smooth, to be the one freaking out about this whole party thing. Normally Liam keeps Louis from getting too agitated, too panicked about what he’s going to wear, if the caterers got there on time, and if that stupid Mrs. Sajak will spend another hour on one of her pointless speeches.

            Taking a deep breath, he readjusts his tie and emerges from the bathroom. His apartment is like a war zone; everything is covered with various items of clothing that Liam rejected over the course of the evening’s preparations, and his dog, Snickerdoodle, clearly had her way with a lot of them, as a good number of Louis’ suit jackets are clustered together in a sort of doggie nest. As if his life couldn’t get any more glamorous.

            “Seriously, we’re going to be late,” Liam says, peeking out from behind the closet door. Louis can’t help but admire the great amount of effort he put into making Liam look as good as he does tonight, because for whatever reason straight guys seem to have absolutely no sense as to what to wear and try to match patterns with plaids and blacks with navy blues and it’s just one big fat mess, but Liam actually looks really put together. Instead of the sweatpants and Ramones t-shirt he entered in, he’s dressed in one of Louis’ nicer Alexander McQueen suits with a snappy tie and some hipster glasses that are really just those cheap 3D ones that you get at the movies that Louis punched the lenses out of.

            Louis still rolls his eyes, because Liam is still being a pain in the arse, and grabs Snickerdoodle’s leash off of the counter, hooking her collar on so he can take her out for a quick bathroom break before they leave. Ignoring Liam’s shouts of protests, Louis quickly walks to the front gardens and lets Snickerdoodle sniff around and do her business.

            Looking up at his second-story window, Louis can’t help but admire how much of a drastic improvement this apartment is from his last one. Before, back when he lived further south, he basically lived in a cube with what now seems like hardly enough room to breathe. Now he’s got space, a beautiful view of the city, and some quite posh neighbors.

            Of course, he’s older now too, so he realizes that what he thought was cool and artsy two years ago just seems stupid. For example, having a dog in a total of two hundred square feet was stupid. Really stupid. Especially when that dog is a puppy who likes to gnaw on all of the wooden furniture in said two hundred square foot apartment and has nowhere to go.

            Snickerdoodle sniffs lazily up at the stars, and Louis lets her, staring over her to see the skyline of London across the Thames. Even though Marylebone isn’t exactly right in the heart of London, it’s close enough that he feels like a part of the energy the city has to offer. The blinking lights of the Tower Bridge and the gentle spinning of the London Eye are like therapy to him, and on nights when he can’t sleep he’ll sit out on his balcony and see if he can pick out any of the buildings.

            Hearing some hollering indoors from Liam, Louis decides it’s time to take Snickerdoodle inside and finally get on the road. Even though they’re still fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. Whatever.

            Getting back inside his apartment, he finds Liam flopped down on the California king bed, lazily flipping through the channels. “Where’s Eastenders? I wanna know what happens with Linda and Shirley,” he asks, his voice muffled by the lapels of his suit jacket.

            Louis takes the remote and turns the TV off. “Li, it’s Wednesday, it’s not on. Plus the Omnibus isn’t on for a few anyway, so you’re not missing anything.”

            Liam groans and flips onto his stomach. “Who the bloody hell has parties on a Wednesday night? Like don’t these people have anything to do?” Louis sighs and grabs his Burberry coat off the chair where he laid it out earlier.

            “No, that’s the issue,” he says. “Plus, most of them are so rich that they don’t even need to work tomorrow. Unlike me.”

            Liam grunts antipathetically. “You and me both,” he mutters as he pets Snickerdoodle on the head and follows Louis out the door.

 

* * * * *

 

            Louis can’t help but think that the string quartet is a tad pretentious for this party. To be fair, he thinks this while he sips a glass of champagne and dutifully tunes out a multi-million dollar donor, but all the same. The string quartet is a bit much.

            Not taking his eyes off of the snobby woman in front of him, Louis tries to covertly peek behind her and look for Zayn and Niall, who still have yet to arrive. It’s only eleven, and the party is just heating up, as fancy women float across the marble floors of the art museum in floor-length gowns and opera gloves.

            He can’t honestly understand how in the world he ever got this job, working as a museum curator in one of the most exclusive museums in the world, let alone London. For some reason, the National Gallery, the bloody National Gallery, the museum with Titians and Seurats and Van Eyck, Raphael, Ucello, and Michelangelo, Boticelli and freaking Leonardo da Vinci, not to mention one of the largest Egyptian collections in the world save for the Louvre and the Cairo museum, wanted him, Louis Tomlinson, to head up the care and maintenance of its beloved pieces. So every day, Louis comes to work with the Conservation Department, then breaks for lunch and takes over teaching a few classes and giving bi-weekly public lectures, soliciting pieces from galleries across the world, and maybe once or twice giving private tours to the Prime Minister’s kids.

            It seems like just yesterday that he was sitting in that stupid classroom teaching a bunch of bored, whiny, arseholes about the majesty of Renaissance culture, and now, finally, he had a group of people who could actually appreciate what he was talking about and discuss it and take a degree of interest in it. Which was a drastic improvement from before.

            He does miss it sometimes, though. Even though he hated a lot of it, parts of that job were still fun. The times he would sneak out of work early, helping Liam acquire Disney posters in different languages, lunch with Zayn and Liam and Niall and—

            “Mr. Tomlinson?” the lady asks, clearly annoyed that her question which Louis totally did not hear has gone unanswered. With great tact and suavity Louis manages to get her to repeat the question, citing the string quartet as too loud, which the snobby lady actually agrees with, and then he’s showing her some of the pieces and explaining their subtleties to her. So, he still does teach, but to people who are actually smart. And care about art. Again, a drastic improvement.

            Behind him, he hears a bit of a clamor and some cursing, and guesses that Niall and Zayn must have arrived. True to his prediction, he and snobby lady turn around to see Niall in a wrinkled suit trying to exchange chest bumps with a mortified Liam, who is trying to explain to one of the MP’s in attendance that he does not, in fact, participate in that aspect of culture, while Zayn, in a tan suit that would look hideous on anyone else but somehow looks gorgeous on him with his unshaven face and gelled hair, looks like he’d rather be getting a root canal.

            Zayn and Niall have been together this whole time, two years, since Louis left his old teaching job. They met when Zayn made Niall spill coffee down the front of his shirt, and, Zayn later admitted to a horrified Louis, gave Niall a blowjob in the bathroom when they were trying to clean up his shirt. They’d been inseparable ever since, and had even been talking about marriage.

            Louis had been noticing married people and things a lot more lately. Glancing down at his conversational partner’s wrinkled and veiny hands, he sees a beautiful diamond ring accompanied by a faded gold wedding band on fingers curled elegantly around a glass of pinot noir. He can see her, married to some snobby man named Alfred with two snobby dogs named Augustus and Napoleon and it may or may not slightly depress him that these snobby people are off living an imaginary snobby life and he spends every night alone in his massive bed and eats way too many boxes of cookies from Harrod’s while watching old episodes of “Keeping Up Appearances”.

            Zayn finally manages to rip Niall off of Liam, and Louis excuses himself to go say hello. Niall is in the middle of a protest to his boyfriend when he notices Louis approaching, and breaks into a grin.

            “’Ey, mate! What’s the ish?” Niall nearly shouts, pulling Louis into a ridiculously tight and majorly uncomfortable that makes Louis nearly choke on the champagne taste in his mouth. When Niall finally lets him go, Zayn looks at him flatly.

            “Where can I get one of those?” he asks, hailing a waiter walking around with glasses on a tray. He downs the entire glass in one go, and puts it down on another passing server. “I’m gonna need like six of these.”

            Louis laughs, because he knows that even though Zayn pretends to be perturbed he is secretly loving every stupid thing his boyfriend is doing right now. That’s just Zayn’s style, this flat affectation that masks a softie underneath.

            “Guess what, Lou?” Niall asks triumphantly. At this point, Louis has given up trying to guess what new and overly ridiculous thing Niall has managed to come up with, so he just shrugs and says “What?” like he always does.

            Before Louis can even hear what new oddity Niall is about to announce, or what this means for him, society, and possibly the future of the universe, he is yanked to the side by Liam’s strong grasp and pulled away from the party into a side gallery.

            “Ow!” Louis whispers after he’s released him. “What the hell was that for?”

            Liam’s face is lit with panic. “Harry’s here.”

            Immediately everything in Louis’ world drains to a complete standstill. No no no. Not now, not here. This cannot be happening, not in this universe or in this life or in any other. Harry Styles could not possibly have shown up to this party on this night. Not after two years, two years of nothing but unanswered text messages and drunken phone calls and a dog. No way, this cannot be happening, it is not happening.

            “What?” is all Louis can choke out, but it somehow manages to communicate to Liam everything he needs to know about the sheer amount of panic this instills in him. “How?” he tries next, and Liam just shakes his head frantically.

            “Mate, I have no bloody clue. I was just talking to one of the security guards about something and then the door opens and Harry bloody fucking Styles walks in the door and just smiles at me and says hi!”

            Louis is shell-shocked. “That’s it?” Liam nods frantically, at a loss for words. Trying to get his feet back under him, Louis starts asking the important questions. “What was he wearing?”

            Liam rolls his eyes and whisper-shouts impatiently “I don’t know! I wasn’t exactly concerned about what the bloke was wearing because, oh, I don’t know, he was actually in the freaking museum!” Louis groans in frustration, and runs a hand through his hair, remembering too late that he had just gotten it perfectly gelled down.

            “Okay, well, was he alone?” he asks. Liam nods a few times and starts pacing the floor in front of him with great intensity. “Yes, he was alone. He came in by himself, nobody by his side, there was no interference—”

            “I get it, Li, he was alone,” Louis interrupts. “Well…” He’s at a loss for words at this point. Finally he settles for an exasperated “What is he doing here?”

            Liam shrugs, looking like he’s trying incredibly hard not cry. “I don’t know! Maybe somebody invited him? Does he come here or donate a lot of money or something? What is he even doing?”

            Louis tries desperately to flip through the mental file cabinet he had labeled “DO NOT OPEN EVER BECAUSE YOU WILL DIE AND COMBUST AND IT WILL TERRIBLE DON’T DO IT” to try to remember what Harry Styles had been up to. All he knew was that he drove him back home from London and they worked together civilly to the end of the year, and then Louis had started applying for other jobs, and then he got the job, and Harry hadn’t come to his going-away party, and he’d texted him a few times with much delayed responses, and so things had kind of gotten awkward and eventually he’d just given up trying and sealed that chapter of his life away with the intention of forgetting it forever and chalking it up to yet another time that Louis Tomlinson got swept off of his feet and dumped onto his ass.

            Yes, it was largely his fault that he’d been an asshole and run away four times, and yes he’d kind of majorly freaked out and gone off the radar, but Harry did leave him with a dog. So that kind of made them even, right?

            “What are you going to do?” Liam hisses, to which Louis looks at him with murderous intensity.

            “What am I going to do?” he repeats with agitation. “What the actual fuck kind of a question is that?” Liam stands in front of him, running his hands up and down his pants like they’ve got the blood of somebody on them or something. Louis bats his hand away with a “Don’t get my pants all sweaty, you wanker.”

            Liam looks around helplessly for a few moments, and then looks Louis dead in the eye. “You have to say something to him.” Louis looks like he is ready to murder Liam, resurrect him, and then murder him again.

            “What the flying fuck am I supposed to say to him?” he hisses, putting his hands on his hips like he does whenever he gets super stressed out.

            “I don’t know!” Liam says. “But you have to say something. I mean, you lived with the guy, it was your first real relationship since Stan. That’s saying something, that’s not exactly something you can ignore. So what, you brush him off? Then what? I mean, he’s going to know you’re here. Your name is on the flipping invitation, I mean, Jesus.”

            Louis sighs in aggravation, mostly because he knows that Liam is one hundred percent correct in his evaluation of the situation. Liam takes him by the shoulders and looks him dead in the eye.

            “Look, I know this sucks, Louis, and I know how hard you’ve worked to bury all of that in the past. But you can’t keep running from Harry. I mean, you tried that, and looked how well it worked out.” Seeing he’s already losing Louis’ attention, he refocuses his chin. “Lou, you have to do this. Just to at least put this behind you once and for all.”

            Before Louis can protest or submit or possibly start crying into his chest, Liam’s phone starts ringing, and he sheepishly takes it out of his breast pocket.

            “Who is it this time?” Louis asks flatly. Liam checks the Caller ID, and then brings it up to his ear, signifying that he’s going to take the call and strand Louis to confront Harry all by himself. Which is perfect. Except not. At all.

            “Danielle,” he says, and Louis rolls his eyes. For the past year, Liam’s been seeing not one, but two girls on the side, because of course it’s feasible for Liam to dote on two girls at the same time and have neither one know that he’s carrying on any sort of a scheme like this. When it’s not Danielle it’s Jade, and when it’s not Jade it’s Danielle, and Louis absolutely refuses to abet his friend in this matter, not counting those several times he pretended that Danielle was his third cousin twice removed on his mum’s side.

            So while Liam goes off to placate one of his women, Louis stomps off to go have a lovely little chat with Harry. This party has clearly been a rousing success.

            Re-entering the main party area, Louis surveys the room, trying to spot any sign of Harry’s ridiculous hair or some sort of patchwork peasant rice farmer suit. Within a matter of seconds, he spots a cluster of patches spread over a tall, lanky frame chatting up some of his colleagues in the corner and Louis makes a beeline for him. Time to get this over with.

            Louis approaches the group standing around talking, and a few of his colleagues move aside with a gentle smile to give him entrance into the conversation. If this were a movie, Harry would look up and into Louis’ eyes, his smile freezing on his face as the two of them get lost in each other’s faces and there’d be sweeping orchestral music and possibly a song and dance routine, but because this is not a movie, all that Louis gets is a quick glance and a “Hey, Lou” and for some reason that makes Louis more lovesick than any movie scene could ever do.

            He spends a few minutes lingering on the outside of a conversation centering around the fine arts of pre-packaged dinners and proper microwaving procedures before the crowd gradually disperses and Louis is left alone with Harry.

            Louis can’t feel his heart beating, pulse racing, or everything he’s tried so desperately to hide in the past few years boiling back up to the surface. Nope. None of that at all.

 

* * * *

 

            The conversation is awkward, sometimes jolting, like Louis was when he first learned to drive stick, a bunch of halting forward movements, but eventually they get the hang of it and fall back into a pattern.

            Louis finds out that Harry moved from his old job at the high school teaching European History and now has Louis’ old job, teaching art history. Apparently he loves it, and is really quite good at it. He’s still bartending, but like he was when Louis first met him, and he still has a penchant for getting drunk in front of the telly and shouting at the X-Factor contestants. So it’s Louis who’s changed so much. Harry’s just stayed the same, or maybe even gotten happier.

            It’s a nice conversation, and they do a lot of catching up. Harry asks a lot about Snickerdoodle, and Louis shows him some pictures on his phone, and they laugh about how big she’s gotten and how lanky she is compared to when they first got her, and reminisce about times she used to pee all over everything in their house because that was what puppies did.

            But eventually, the conversation runs dry, grows stagnant. Eventually Louis just ends up staring at his shoes and Harry swirls his champagne with great effort and intent, watching as the bubbles go around and around inside the glass, creating waves with new heights and trying to keep it inside the tall glass. Louis can’t help but wonder why he fell for Harry, and why he’s still so helplessly in love with him, after all this time.

            Just as Louis is about to say goodnight to Harry and dart off in an attempt to find Liam and hide with him in one of the side galleries and discuss how awkward it is that Louis had to see Harry again and ha-ha isn’t that funny that he showed up and then they would go their separate ways and just forget about everything, Harry says “Yeah, I’ve actually got a job here now,” and Louis chokes on his champagne and Harry has to thump him on the back while he hacks away until he finally calms down enough to let Harry continue.

            “I mean, I’m still doing the whole teaching thing, y’know, but there’s a part time position here after school on the weekdays and the full day on Saturday taking special courses on the art and everything, plus work behind the scenes with the curators. Continuing education and all that.”

            The only word that keeps going through Louis’ mind at this point is “fuck”, so that his thoughts about how he in fact is the one teaching these classes and supervising all of this work in the conservatory offices and teaching the group about proper technique and style and all of that just kind of becomes a string in his mind, like _fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_.

            “That’s awesome,” Louis chokes out, realizing that Harry likely got the invitation to this party because he sent them out to the sponsors of these various pupils with his name across the top and some person, likely that stupid snobby woman with her snobby dogs, sent the invitation to Harry and invited him to sip champagne and rub shoulders with all of these people and wear these _hideous_ patchwork suits to said parties because such is the life of a Harry Styles.

            Essentially, Louis wants to scream, laugh, and cry. All at the same time. This is what Harry does to him.

 

* * * * *

 

            When he finally gets home, Louis finds the door to his flat unlocked.

            Immediately suspicious, Louis retreats to his car and grabs the can of mace he has hidden in the glove compartment were he to be pulled over and hijacked by an angry person on the motorway, because this is likely, of course, and also takes a towel from the backseat that Snickerdoodle likes to pull at so that he can maybe throw it onto the intruder and Snickerdoodle will yank at him and frighten him away.

            That sounded way more logical inside his head.

            He sneaks up to the door and pushes it open, avoiding the third step on his way up because it squeaks, and finally makes it to the entrance way. Kicking off his shoes, he braces himself and with a shout of aggressiveness, kicks open the door and falls onto his face because he hit it the wrong way and stubbed his toe on the doorknob and is now lying in agony with a can of mace and a towel spread over his suit that Snickerdoodle immediately jumps on and starts pulling.

            Louis manages to get the blanket off of himself and stand up, looking around warily with the can of mace in his hand. He doesn’t see anybody in the living room, and the telly is off, so he warily proceeds forward, grabbing a butter knife covered in yogurt from the sink. Snickerdoodle sits on the kitchen floor licking her flank lazily. Some guard dog she is.

            Creeping forward ever so carefully, Louis sees a shaft of light coming from underneath his bedroom door and the faint sound of the telly. As he tries to will himself forward to confront the intruder, he can’t help but picture the scene that awaits him. A gang of robbers with a bag full of all of his money. Those new Italian golf shoes he got the other week because they were on sale. Of course, robbers don’t know things are on sale, but still. They’ll seem expensive and likely worth stealing.

            He tries desperately to steel his pounding heartbeat, inching closer and closer to the bedroom door. Finally, he stands in front of it. Summoning all of his courage, he winds up and kicks the door open, better this time, only half stubbing his pinky toe on the recoil, and looks up to see Stan Lucas sitting on his bed eating ice cream out of the carton and looking at him casually.

            “Oh, hey, Lou,” he says, taking another spoonful of the strawberry. “Long time no see. Oh, and how about Zayn and Niall having that baby mama? Pretty sweet, eh?”

            Things are definitely not a drastic improvement from two years ago. At all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today's chapter is brought to you by the word smut
> 
> HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY
> 
> don't forget to comment, bookmark, kudos, etc.! love love love y'all!

           “Stan, what the hell are you doing here?”

            Looking up from his carton of ice cream, Stan grins cheekily back at Louis. For some reason, Louis missed that sly smirk he used to pull out every time he pressed one of Louis’ buttons.

            “Nice digs you got here,” he says, ignoring Louis’ question. “Seriously, quite an improvement from our little flat.”

            Louis tries not to strangle him as he chokes out “Didn’t take much”.

            Ignoring him again, Stan takes another spoonful of ice cream and flops back onto the bed. “So, how’ve you been?”

            “I can’t believe this is happening right now,” Louis says in disbelief. “I mean, I haven’t seen you in two, no, three fucking years and I walk into my flat to find you eating ice cream on my bed watching soaps? Like seriously?”

            Stan just shrugs and licks the spoon a few times. “Dunno, figured I might as well stop by. Plus I know you, you always leave your spare key under the mat. Real original.” Louis tries not to punch him this time, and he can clearly see his violent streak slipping further out of his control.

            “Can you just, like, get off my bed and put the ice cream away so we can actually talk? Or maybe you could just leave? That’d be nice too,” Louis says thinly. His head is spinning, throbbing from the shock of seeing Stan in his bedroom and a few too many glasses of champagne.

            With a sardonic laugh, Stan digs around in the carton for any last remnants of ice cream. “You always were demanding when we were together. You never shut up about anything, Jesus.” Smug asshole. Louis can’t even remember why he found him attractive in the first place.

            “I thought you were in another relationship already?” Louis snaps back, trying in vain to keep things somewhat civil. Clearly he’s having little to no success.

            Stan laughs, shrugging at the telly. “Nah, you know me, I’m a drifter. He wanted kids and the whole lot, I had no need to tie myself down this early.”

            “Right, because we’re only in our late twenties, approaching thirty, and the idea of settling down would totally ruin all of my plans for prom and nights out at those clubs,” Louis snaps in return.

            “Well,” Stan says, sighing and leaning further back into the pillows, “I personally loathe the idea of marriage.”

            Louis is fuming at this point. “Oh, so is that why you proposed to me two years ago? Because you loathed the idea of marrying me?” Stan laughs dryly and shrugs again, tossing the carton and spoon onto the floor, sending Louis into a tizzy as he tries desperately to prevent spillage.

            “You breaking off our engagement was the best thing that ever happened to me, Louis,” he says, and Louis snaps and can’t take it anymore and hurls the ice cream carton at Stan and screams at him louder than he’s ever screamed at anyone in his entire life to GETTHEFUCKOUTOFHISFLAT and Stan walks calmly to the door and just laughs the entire time, slipping on his shoes and blowing Louis a kiss as he makes his way out.

            So Louis just kind of sinks into his bed and sighs and stares at the ceiling and tries to figure out how he got from point a (fancy art banquet with a guest appearance from Harry Styles) to point b (Stan in his bedroom telling him Zayn and Niall are going to have a baby).

            Sitting up at the idea of that last thought, Louis grabs his cell phone and calls Zayn. It rings for a few minutes and then the call goes through and all he can hear for a few minutes is this annoying buzzing, like static or something because Zayn clearly does not know how to make phone calls.

            “Zayn, are you there, mate?” Louis asks. There’s no response, just the sound of distant laughter and something that sounds like a vacuum cleaner getting stuck on the edge of a rug. Louis would rather not know what that is.

            “Zayn!” Louis shouts, and suddenly he hears a breath and Zayn is just slurring nonsense into the phone and then Niall grabs it and is also shouting things that Louis can’t make out but which sound something like “Grwawrrraaaaaahhhhhmmmmmmeeeeeeaaattttee” and then the phone is evidently shuffled back to Zayn who asks him what he wants.

            “Are you having a baby?” Louis asks. Zayn cackles drunkenly.

            “Hear that, Ni?” he shouts, clearly into the phone more than at Niall because Louis feels his eardrum implode. “Louis says we’re having a baby! Can you believe it? I swear, ‘s on summin!”

            Faintly, Louis can hear Niall say something to Zayn and then there’s a period of silence in which Louis can literally hear Zayn getting sober.

            “Oh, fuck. We’re having a baby.”

            Louis sinks further into his mattress, hoping the world will just go and flip itself right side up again.

 

* * * * *

 

            Louis digs in his wallet for another fiver to pay the cab driver, checking his watch nervously. Clearly they hiked the fares recently, because he cannot remember having to shell out this much money last week.

            With a “Cheers, mate” he closes the door behind him and walks briskly up the steps of the museum. Even though there’s a definite chill in the air and the ground is wet with rain, something about the whole gallery just seems so perfect. Gazing up at the massive columns, Louis can’t help but feel that he’s a part of something bigger than himself.

            Checking in with security and reattaching his ID badge, Louis checks his watch again, possibly for the tenth time in half as many minutes, and picks up the pace as he rounds the corner of one of the galleries on the way to his office.

            Today’s the first day of his classes, the exclusive lessons he’s giving to those selected teachers, and he’s nervous as fuck. Then he remembers one of those teachers is Harry Styles and he almost shits himself.

            Taking a deep breath, Louis hits the button on the elevator and shifts his cuppa to his other hand. Digging in his leather messenger bag for his cell phone, Louis uses it to check his hair as he steps into the carriage and rides up a story to his office. It’s roomy enough, and there’s a nice view out onto Trafalgar Square, but sometimes it feels too much like he’s working in a cubicle. When he can, he’s out among the patrons, in the galleries, giving tours or taking notes on what pieces look like they could do with some restoration work, organizing the spaces for temporary exhibitions, or supervising training sessions.

            Plopping his things down at his desk, Louis straightens his tie and closes his eyes for a second. It’s like he’s forgotten to breathe this morning or something, because he can feel his heart beating at a million miles an hour right in his ears and it’s incredibly loud and he just needs a minute to calm himself down before doing this.

            “Hey, Lou, how’s it going?” Tina, one of the other restoration workers, asks. She’s nice to Louis, one of his casual work friends that he’ll go drinking with and would invite to a big party or something but he doesn’t like go shopping with her or anything. Come to think of it, he doesn’t really do that with anybody nowadays.

            “Good, Tina, thanks,” Louis answers back before he can get too deep into his own head. “By the way, I’ve got the first session today, so if you could you get the measurements for that one Rubens that would be fantastic. I want to see if we can get it reframed.” He shoots her a thankful smile and heads back to the elevator with his tea and clipboard, pencil tucked behind his ear, ready for action.

            In the elevator, he sinks against the back wall and stares glumly at the doors. The more he thinks about, the more he realizes that he really is by himself quite a lot. He knows he’s an introverted person, that’s no secret. He used to hate it when his mum and dad would make him socialize and go out on the town when he just wanted to curl up with a book and some Joni Mitchell or something. Well, maybe Westlife instead of Joni Mitchell. He always did think Mark Feehily was an attractive bloke.

            Regardless, he doesn’t exactly have many people to go do things with. Zayn has Niall, Liam has his two girlfriends, and Harry—well. Harry isn’t exactly an option anymore.

            The elevator dings and the doors open onto a small group of twenty or so nervous looking twenty-somethings all dressed in slightly oversized sweaters and varying styles of boots like they’re some sort of hipster zombie army or something.

            “Alright, are we all here for the class today?” Louis asks loudly to get everyone’s attention. Hearing a slightly affirmative reaction, he takes it for a good sign. “Yeah? Alright, well, let’s get started, shall we?”

            He goes through the names, and everyone’s there except for three, which he expected, because a few always forget or just chicken out or something. He calls Harry’s name and he gets a boisterous response, and he has to try very hard to pretend like he’s not amused. Because he is. Very.

            He invites the group to sit down on the bench in the middle as he paces in front of a large Titian piece. Hopefully it won’t be too distracting, but you never know how easily a bunch of men (and women) can be sidetracked by scantily clad goddesses.

            “Before we get started, let me just make this clear to you,” Louis says in as commanding of a voice as he can muster. Clearly it has some sort of effect, because everyone’s eyes lock onto him. “This is not an invitation to hang out with us and stand idly by for the heck of it. There are thirty of you; well, twenty-seven actually. Out of all of you, one-third won’t make it past the first few sessions, another third won’t meet our standards, and the other third will get the chance to work hands on with some of our most famous pieces in our archives.” He stops pacing and faces the group. “We don’t let just anybody handle our most valuable pieces. You have to prove you’re worthy of breathing on our Rembrandts, our DaVincis. I can tell you right now that after today, at least nine of you will ask yourselves what the bloody hell you’re doing here and you won’t bother coming in next session.”

            “So, to summarize, at the end of two months or so myself and nine of you will ascend into the conservation offices of the gallery and work to restore some of our permanent pieces and arrange for the production and presentation of a temporary exhibition of the masterpieces of Gustav Klimt.” Everyone buzzes at the name; it’s fairly recognizable. “Shall we get started?”

 

* * * * *

 

            “So, we’re now moving into another room showcasing our extensive collection of Western art. This one in particular is a masterpiece by the English court artist Hans Holbein the Younger.” Louis guides the group into the next room, grateful that the glass-ceilinged room allows for some degree of warmth and light. Looking around, he can see that the original eager faces from everyone have dimmed to less; in the back several look like they’d rather be shoving pins in their eyes.

            “For those of you who teach art history to eleventh or twelfth years, or somewhere around that range, which I would assume to be most of you, I would hope you’d teach this piece.” Louis gestures to the massive canvas behind him. “This is _The French Ambassadors_ , and is probably Holbein’s most recognizable piece of all.”

            He goes through several minutes explaining the finer nuances of Holbein’s sixteenth century technique, the religious symbolism involved, and the innovative use of the skull in the foreground.

            In the middle of explaining Holbein’s application of perspective, a hand from the mid-ground shoots up. “It looks like it was photoshopped,” Harry Styles comments.

            Louis rolls his eyes. “No, Mr. Styles, it was not photoshopped. It definitely looks odd, but that’s because Holbein had an excellent handle on the optical illusion the shape created.”

            “Are you sure ‘snot?” Harry asks, as serious and non-mocking as they come. “I mean, you might wanna get that checked out.”

            Several of the group members snicker and Louis tries not to run over and smack him on  the head. “I assure you, this piece is genuine. Moving on…”

            As they break for lunch, Louis can already see at least five people fall onto benches with something straddling the line between exhaustion and boredom. The rest of the group falls easily into small clusters, breaking out homemade sandwiches, salads, and the like. Louis sits in the far corner by himself, picking at a cucumber and tomato salad when Harry walks over and plops himself down next to him.

            Louis looks at him, confused, and when Harry doesn’t say anything, Louis asks “Harry, don’t you have other people you want to sit with?” Harry just shrugs and unwraps his peanut butter sandwich.

            “I mean, not really,” he says, taking a bite. “You’re much more interesting than they are anyway.” He chews for a minute, pointing thoughtfully at a few of the small collections of people lunching on the floor. “I mean, look at them. They’re either snobby people who think because they have a teaching degree on a piece of paper they’re suitable for teaching kids about art and the like, or they’re stuck-up arseholes who can’t understand why they’re wasting their time here because they already know all of this from uni.”

            Louis smiles sardonically as he stabs a tomato. “So which group do you fall in?”

            Harry laughs through a mouthful of bread and peanut butter and tries not to choke. “Touché, my friend.” He stops for a while and thinks, then saying “Probably the same one you’re in.”

            “Which is?” Louis asks, giving him a sideways glance.

            “The one where people genuinely care about art and want to learn more because it actually matters to them. Like, it’s not just some big game or a big joke, it’s a way of life and a passion. So I’m in that group.”

            Louis nods thoughtfully to himself, and suddenly he remembers all of the reasons why he loved Harry in the first place.

            “I miss you, Haz,” he admits, looking at him straight on for the first time in forever. Harry looks him back, dead in the eye.

            “I miss you too, Lou,” he murmurs, taking his thumb and stroking Louis’ cheek with just the right touch that it sends shivers coursing down Louis’ spine.

            Of course, because this is Louis’ life and not David Beckham’s, his phone alarm goes off to remind him that the lunch break is over and then they kind of awkward scramble to put their things away as Louis calls the group back together to finish their tour.

            Even though he knows all of the information in his head, and he can talk about all of the pieces he points out, he can’t stop staring at Harry, can’t stop wishing for what they had. And the worst part is, Harry looks right back.

 

* * * * *

 

            Finally, the first session is over, and Louis gives the group a sheet of paper with the next date and time, answers a few questions, and sees most of them off. Soon it’s just him and Harry, who scuffs his shoe along the floor as Louis gets his papers in order.

            “Haz, don’t, you’ll mess up the floors,” Louis scolds him, and, like an obedient child, Harry blushes and stops.

            “Can I walk you to your car?” Harry asks. Louis shakes his head.

            “Nah, I took a cab, I’ve got another one on the way.”

            Harry picks up his pace so he’s walking slightly in front of Louis. “Well, then I’m sure I can see you to your office.”

            Louis hesitates. He’s not exactly sure that he wants this to be happening right now, Harry to be busting back into his life like this after so much time of nothing. All of a sudden, he’s just supposed to let down his guard and tear down those walls he spent two years building because they had one moment together?

            Against his better judgment, Louis nods, and Harry follows him to the elevator. Entering the code to head to the next floor, Louis waits nervously for the carriage to arrive and then steps in briskly and presses the button. Harry follows close behind, standing at a short distance away from him once they’re both inside.

            The doors close, and the elevator begins moving upwards.

            “So,” Harry says after a few moments. Louis just nods awkwardly and then repeats him, “So”, and then just like that they’re on each other like starved animals, kissing and clawing and tearing like never before. Louis forgot how good Harry’s lips felt on his, how strong and sweet they are, how they make his knees buckle and send waves of pleasure right to his already hardening cock, and he moans as he involuntary ruts his body against Harry’s.

            With one hand, he grabs a fistful of Harry’s stupid, stupid curls and with the other he reaches down the front of his pants and grabs his rock hard dick, making Harry moan, this deep haunting moan, like he’s waking up from a coma or something and realizing that he’s been missing everything in his life.

            “How many floors do we have?” Harry grunts, and Louis looks at the counter above the door, moving his hand around to feel Harry’s ass.

            “Um, like, two,” he moans, groaning in ecstasy as Harry plants kisses hard and deep on his neck, leaving flowering bruises that are surely going to need a scarf or some concealer or possibly some sort of skin graft because damn.

            “Can’t we keep going?” Harry asks through grunts, ramming his body against Louis’, feeling their crotches rub together and it’s the best feeling in the world and Louis literally can’t get enough of it.

            “I mean, I guess we can just keep going between floors,” Louis whimpers, feeling his boxers constrict even more around his ever growing cock. If he doesn’t get his pants off soon, he’ll literally lose all feeling in his dick, and that would be a real shame, because what he’s feeling right now is nothing short of amazing.

            Harry seems to get this message because he’s fumbling for his belt and loosening it just enough that Louis gaps as he feels his cock spring forward and then he’s literally hurling himself at Harry and moaning and shaking against him, mouth agape as he breathes in his scent and Harry grabs him with his big hands and drags his cock along the front of his thigh.

            With a strangled cry, Harry comes, still in his pants, Louis can feel the wet spot on his underwear growing. With each passing thrust, Louis can feel himself getting closer and then he’s choking on Harry’s name and he feels himself burst in his boxers and he comes for what feels like years, soaking his pants with what feels like weeks worth of cum, and it’s on the front of Harry’s pants and he can’t breathe and God that was perfect that was just perfect.

            “Do you have a tissue?” Harry gasps, coming down off of his post-orgasm high.

            Louis fumbles through his pockets and pulls out a now damp tissue he’d kept in there in case he had a sneeze attack in the archives. “I did,” he says, laughing as he unfurls it to wipe some of the cum off of Harry’s pants.

            With a ding, the elevator opens on Louis’ floor, and the two walk out comfortably, slightly disheveled, and Louis’ neck looking like it’s been attacked by a hoard of angry mosquitoes or something, but overall pretty well put together, and then go back into the elevator and do the same thing the entire way down.

            If Louis has his way, he’ll be letting Harry fuck him in the archives by the next session.

            When he goes home that night, Louis sleeps better than he has in months, even though in the back of his mind he can’t help thinking that something about this feels less than right. The front of his mind, though, feels pretty freaking awesome.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merp sorry this took so long got caught up in a lot of things anyway
> 
> this one's a bit longer cause i figured i owed it to y'all!
> 
> thanks xxox

            So Louis falls into this pattern for the next month or so, where he teaches Harry and the rest of the students all about the art and they all feel very fancy together and occasionally one of them cries and then Harry rides the elevator back up to Louis’ office and they have crazed sex and then get off like nothing happened in the ride up.

            One time they got daring and Harry actually took his shoes off, but other than that things have remained pretty stagnant.

            By now, though, with the weather fading from a bone-chilling winter into a mildly-chilling, dismal spring, Louis is getting frustrated with the way things are turning out. For some reason, he feels like he took two steps forward and now, even though he wants to, he’s just stuck at this phase of awkwardness.

            Not that he’d never been there before or anything, because of course he had. Like that time everyone went on their senior trip to Paris and Louis had to stay home because a bunch of the other boys had said that if he went and shared a room with them they’d “kick his ass into the River Seine” and so Louis had stayed home and just spent every day at the gallery, pretending like he had better things to do and was gracing these works with his presence, when actually he was just desperate to have people like him.

            So now, when he’s taking his ever shrinking group around to inspect the finer details of a Van Eyck, or to discuss the subtleties of restoring the Rembrandt he oversaw a few months before, he can’t help but feel like he’s that same kid again, stuck in twelfth year where no one could give two shits about him and he’s pacing around the museum pretending like he’s someone important when he’s really not.

            During their lunch break, he goes to the bathroom and inspects himself in the mirror. Something about those stray hairs in the back keep bothering him; is that a touch of gray in that one—

            “You look like a mime.”

            Louis whirls around to see Harry leaning against the door eating an apple, nonchalant as ever. Annoyed, he turns back to the mirror and continues to try to get his hair flush to his head.

            “You could have said something about my hair,” he mutters, splashing more water onto his hand and almost slapping himself trying to force it into place.

            “I also could have said something about your outfit, but there were people around,” Harry adds, walking over to lean against the sinks. Louis pretends to ignore him, focusing intently on those pesky grays he found over by his ear.

            “Something about those black pants with that striped shirt just is not doing it for me,” he continues, taking another bite out of his apple. While chewing, he adds thoughtfully, “Not that it’s ugly, cause it’s not. You just look a bit like a mime, ‘s all.”

            Louis rolls his eyes and tries not to punch Harry in the face. “You know, I got this from the Armani store on the west end. It’s not some cheap shirt, this cost big bucks.”

            Harry groans and chucks his apple core in the trash, the back of his hand brushing against Louis’ thigh. Louis tries not to let Harry know that his entire body just felt as though it had been electrocuted, currents of electricity coursing throughout every single cell.

            “Since when did you become so posh, Lou?” Harry asks. “The Louis I knew worked with a bunch of prats and drove to the beach during work hours with a bottle of vodka.”

            Louis sighs and turns to face Harry. “It wasn’t like that,” he admonishes. “I really liked what I did, I just….”

            “Just what?” Harry asks, staring Louis dead in the eyes.

            Choking back the urge to say something more, Louis just says “I just couldn’t do it anymore,” and walks out the bathroom, not bothering to hold the door.

 

* * * * *

 

            “Whaddaya think of this one, eh? It’s pretty cute.” Niall holds up a tiny pair of overalls with a smiling monkey embroidered on the front. “Our baby’d look bangin’ in this number.”

            “The fact that you used ‘baby’ and ‘banging’ in the same sentence makes me question your ability to be a father,” Zayn grumbles, taking the overalls and placing them in the shopping cart.

            “It’ll look really cute in those, Ni,” Louis assures, fingering the racks of tiny clothes.

            “Do you think it’s gender neutral enough?” Niall asks with an intense seriousness. Zayn doesn’t look at him, just rolls his eyes. Any higher, Louis thinks, and they’d see his brain or something.

            “It’s a bloody pair of overalls,” he says, picking up a tiny raincoat and placing it in the cart in one fluid motion. “Our baby is not going to care about whether it looks too gender strict in its overalls.”

            “It’s a legitimate question,” Niall continues. “I mean, who’s to say our baby should have to conform to societal standards of gender, y’know?”

            As fascinating as the debate is to Louis, he really can’t deal with any more of Niall and Zayn’s baby banter. The fact that the two of them are going to be dads is enough of a shock to make anything related to the topic completely inane anyway.

            For starters, after Stan had told him that his two best friends had hired a surrogate, Louis had called Zayn in a fit demanding to know who this woman was and what she was doing with their sperm inside of her. Apparently Niall and Zayn decided to do the insemination randomly, because it’d be pretty easy to figure out exactly whose baby it was (pasty, blonde screamer would be Niall’s, brunette, pensive baby with good cheekbones would be Zayn’s), but Louis was still in shock about the whole thing.  
            According to Zayn, Niall had been begging him for a baby since their one month anniversary, and Zayn had kept him placated by saying that if they kept up regular sex for long enough and kept the footy cheering down, one of them could get pregnant. After about four months of sedated club matches and overly aggressive advances on Niall’s part, he figured out that Zayn was just full of shit and started looking for adoption agencies and the like.

            As their one year anniversary gift, Zayn got Niall a signed jersey from Manchester United and Niall got Zayn a tiny pair of socks. Zayn, slightly offended that Niall thought his feet (or third foot) were really that small, passed out at the restaurant upon hearing that he was going to be a father.

            Looking over at his two friends bickering, Louis can’t help but feel happy for them. He knows how badly Niall’s been wanting this, and how secretly thrilled Zayn is at the prospect of becoming a father, and it makes him really excited for them. But at the same time, it upsets him, because he knows it’s not his life and it never will be. Try as he might, Louis knows that he’s older than both Niall and Zayn and that he’s not exactly going pram and nappy shopping anytime soon. By the time he feels settled enough to even think about a family, he’ll probably be pushing forty (the thought almost sends him careening into a rack of tiny animal backpacks) and will most definitely have gray hairs and will want nothing more after work than a glass of pinot noir and some Strictly Come Dancing before turning in at seven with a copy of the Prime Minister’s latest memoir. That does not include a child.

            Liam always jokes with him that Tom Daley’s doing quite well with a man older than Louis, but Louis isn’t exactly an Academy Award winning screenplay writer nor are there any sexually ambiguous Olympic athletes around either. That kind of thing only happens in movies, or on the soaps, or at the very most in the tabloids.

            And then there’s Harry. Stupid, bloody Harry Styles, who has to come storming back into his life just when Louis had put all of the pieces back together again. He was over him, really over him, and recovering quite nicely with a bit of glue and an instruction manual as to how to reconstruct things, and then just as everything’s settling down again, in typical style, there’s Harry bloody Styles and suddenly the world’s upside down all over again.

            “You okay, mate?”

            Louis realizes Niall’s talking to him and Zayn’s looking at him like he’s scared he’s going to keel over or something, so he just smiles and nods.

            “Yeah, yeah I’m fine!” he says as cheerily as he can muster. After getting some worried smiles from his friends and then hearing them resume their conversation, Louis lets his guard down again. The sooner this whole internship thing is over with, the better.

 

* * * * *

 

            The last time he was in this parking lot, Louis was two years younger, in a shitty job, and unemployed. Putting his electric car in park, Louis steps out onto the gravely pavement awash with students flooding out of the building where he used to teach.

            As he makes his way towards the main entrance, a couple of them recognize him and wave hello shyly, but the majority of them have graduated or at the very least grown up, so he can’t tell who they are and he certainly looks different and isn’t driving a death trap with a penchant for heaving the entire time it’s on the road, so of course less people are going to know who he is.

            After signing in at the front desk and saying hello to the principal and some of his old friends, Louis heads upstairs to Liam’s room.

            “Oh, thank you so much Lou, you’re a lifesaver,” Liam gushes when Louis walks in. “That’s such a long drive, I’m so sorry, I really am!”

            Louis shrugs and good-naturedly responds “Aw, well, an hour isn’t that big of a deal anyway. Plus it’s warm out! I like this new weather.”

            Liam just groans and looks like he’s going to die of embarrassment. “I wish I didn’t have to call you, but Zayn and Ni have the day off. Apparently their baby mum is going in for an ultrasound or something. Of course, can’t miss the first sight of the squirrel inside her stomach!”

            “You’re just jealous,” Louis chides and Liam sighs because he knows Louis is right.

            “And Harry’s off at department training or something, so the only person who lived remotely in the same direction as me was you,” Liam finishes. “And you said you’ll take me back to your flat? You really don’t have to do that.”

            Louis grins. “Li, your place is a shithole.”

            Liam begrudgingly smiles. “Okay, well it’s still my place. And that’s still your place!”

            With two hands, Liam grabs a stack of papers and a giant portfolio filled with posters and essays. “Can you just take that bag? It has my marks in it.”

            Louis takes it and easily swings it over his shoulder, and follows Liam downstairs as he says goodbye to every single person he sees in his typically impossibly friendly Liam Payne style. As they get to the bottom of the stairs and pass his old room, Louis hesitates.

            “Listen, you go to the car without me,” Louis calls to Liam. “I just, uh, wanna check on summin.”

            “Don’t get too nostalgic for your old place, mate,” Liam calls back without turning back, pausing to high-five one of the maintenance men. Louis rolls his eyes and grins. Going up to the door, he can see that all the lights are off.

            “Let’s see if I remember this, eh?” he asks himself softly as he grabs the doorknob with two hands. Wrenching it upwards, he quickly uses his thumb to press the lock area and then kicks the door twice at the bottom. It eases open with a slight pop.

            “Still got that old magic,” he says to himself, flipping the lights on and setting Liam’s bag down.

            Harry’s clearly done a lot to the space; a lot has changed. For starters, he’s changed all of the art on the walls. Louis had it decorated sparsely, with non-descript posters of the artwork, and some graphics defining how to create different hues and tones using the color techniques. Harry, on the other hand, has massive framed works of art all around the room, covering what seems like every spare inch of wall space, and a couple of Calder’s mobiles hanging from the ceiling. On the far wall, by the chalkboard, a charcoal outline shows what looks like the beginning of a mural, probably inspired by Rivera and Orozco’s work in Mexico.

            On closer inspection, Louis can see that it’s definitely Harry’s handiwork, at least in the way the eyes are drawn. It’s the silhouette of a person, their head tilted backwards, and thick pastel-like outlines flooding out of their mouth, or into it, brilliant pinks and blues and purples thicker and more defined by the center and less sure of themselves towards the edges. It’s definitely a man, Louis can tell by the strength in the shoulders and the agile tilt of the neck, the slight curve of the Adam’s apple.

            With a delicate hand, Louis reaches out and strokes the outline of the drawing, passing gently over its face. He’s scared to breathe, afraid that if he exhales too hard he’ll send the whole thing scattering into the air.

            “It’s not done yet,” Harry says from behind him.

            Louis jumps several feet in the air, nearly falling back against the blackboard. “Jesus Christ, you have to stop doing that to me,” he grumbles as he tries to recover with grace.

            Harry chuckles and walks over to stand next to Louis and look at the mural. “Do you like it?”

            “Yeah,” Louis says, nodding slowly and panning over the entire thing. “It’s fantastic.”

            “I did it myself,” Harry says proudly. “This is just the start. I’m working on a whole garden on the edges and the background and all that.” Louis doesn’t really know what to say, so he just smiles and nods. “It’s called _Creation_ ,” Harry adds. “Sort of like…I dunno, a modern Garden of Eden or summin.”

            “It’s really incredible,” Louis says. He awkwardly turns around and walks around a little bit, folding his arms into his chest. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

            “Anything’s better than what you had it looking like,” Harry says gravely, and Louis whirls on him, unsure if he’s serious or not. His eyes brighten when he sees Harry chuckling, and he adds “Kidding, I loved the way you had it.”

            Louis rolls his eyes, still smiling, and walks over to the computer. Pulling open the second drawer, he flips through the CD rack and stops after a few flicks of the wrist.

            “Harry Styles, what did you do with my Now collection?” Louis asks, feigning rage.

            Harry puts his hands in the air like he’s been caught. “Hey, junk goes where junk belongs. In the garbage.”

            Louis scoffs, playing into the situation. “Garbage? Is that what you call it? If I’m not mistaken, I found some Pixie Lott on your iPod the other day when I collected your stuff at Coat Check.”

            “I refuse to comment on that,” Harry says stoically. Louis circles slowly around him, playing up the romantic tension.

            “And, um, I’m pretty sure there was some Katy B on there as well. Maybe some, oh, I don’t know, ‘80’s era Kylie?”

            “Hey, Enjoy Yourself was my favorite growing up!” Harry says defensively and the two dissolve into laughter.

            “Well, let me see yours,” Harry says, holding out his hand. Louis arches an eyebrow playfully.

            “Excuse me?” he says, looking pointedly down at his crotch. Harry blushes bright red and extends his other hand.

            “Your iPod, Lou. Or iPhone, whatever you use.”

            Louis turns away from him, adding, “Well, Styles, I swing both ways, what can I say?” Harry laughs behind him and Louis whips out his iPod, teasing Harry with it. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

            “Give it here, Tomlinson,” Harry says with mock seriousness. Louis bites his lip and shakes his head tauntingly.

            “Oh, you’ll have to come and get it, Styles,” he says, and starts running between tables, Harry in as hot of a pursuit as you can get in an art room with six tables. They’re both hysterical, and Harry is trying to use his gangliness to block Louis, but Louis manages to sneak under him and then Harry grabs him and tucks him into his arms, reaching for his iPod, and Louis keeps pulling it away and Harry finally gets is, and suddenly Louis is in his arms and he looks up at Harry and Harry looks down at Louis and they realize that they’re here, right now, like this.

            “So,” Louis says.

            “So,” Harry repeats, staring him down.

            Louis isn’t really sure what to do here, so they just keep staring at each other and trying not to look away or blink or whatever.

            “Louis Tomlinson,” Harry says after a minute, “Kate Bush? What are you, a fifty-year old gay man with four chihuahuas?” Louis laughs and grabs for his iPod, Harry pulling it away, and then, just like that, Louis has his arms around Harry’s neck and Harry has his arms around Louis’ waist and for whatever reason Louis’ shitty old iPod decides that it wants to remotely sync with the sound system in the classroom and Robbie Williams and Nicole Kidman are singing “Something Stupid” and they’re slow dancing.

            _I know I stand in line,_ _until you think you have the time to spend an evening with me; And if we go some place to dance, I know that there's a chance you won't be leaving with me_

“I always hated this song,” Harry comments dryly as he and Louis sway in place, Louis trying not to breathe Harry’s scent in too deeply.

            “Shut up, Styles,” he grumbles, face buried in Harry’s shirt.

            “I’m serious,” Harry says. “You know Frank and Nancy Sinatra did this first? Like how weird is that? A father and a daughter should never sing this together.”

            “Shut up, Styles,” Louis grumbles more forcefully.

            “Okay, okay, little Keebler elf,” Harry says, and receives a punch in the back from his dance partner.

            _I can see it in your eyes,_ _that you despise the same old lies you heard the night before;  
And though it's just a line to you, for me it's true, it never seemed so right before._

            “This is nice,” Louis says, lifting his face out of Harry’s shirt for a minute to get some air. Whether it’s his cologne or just him, he’s getting somewhat lightheaded.

            “Mhmm,” Harry says, continuing to move Louis gently around the floor.

            “Can I ask you something?” Louis tries after a little bit. Harry doesn’t say anything, so he keeps going. “Do you ever miss….us?”

            There’s silence for a minute, and Louis keeps thinking that he’s screwed it up royally now, and everything that was going so right is now going to shit.

            “All the time,” Harry says quietly, and then he’s leaning down and Louis is leaning up and their lips meet in their first real, perfect kiss in two years, and Louis feels like his chest is going to explode.

            “I can’t do this,” Louis says, breaking the kiss and grabbing his iPod from Harry.

            “What? Can’t do what?” Harry asks, his voice painfully broken in the silence left by the empty sound system.

            “This, us,” Louis says, “I just can’t do it, I’m sorry.” Ignoring Harry’s shouts to wait, Louis grabs Liam’s bag and heads down the hallway, out to his car, where there’s a note on his dashboard saying that he got a ride with one of the other teachers, and Louis just throws the bag on the floor and drives for a few minutes before pulling the car over and resting his head against the steering wheel.

            What the fuck did he just get himself back into?

            _And then I go and spoil it all, by saying something stupid like: "I love you."_ __  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Louis wakes up and feels like somebody’s hit him over the head with a boulder or four. Looking blearily around the room, he makes out fuzzy details of empty bottles and overturned glasses visible among the glaring sunlight. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he stumbles over to the window and tries to pull the shade down before realizing that the shade is not attached to the window frame, but rather is lying on the floor.

            Putting his feet into a pair of shoes that smell faintly of red wine and strongly of dog pee, he pads into the living room to try to ascertain more about what the hell happened. The apartment’s empty; that’s no surprise. Snickerdoodle is lying in a comfortable huddle on the couch next to an open bag of crisps, the contents of which are strewn about the floor.

            Walking slowly over to the telly, he turns the power on and immediately feels like he’s been bashed again, the sound pummeling his ears. Groping for the remote, he finally manages to slam the mute button before realizing that the volume has literally gone from a ten to a zero. Clearly something’s up.

            Even though his head is throbbing and he feels sicker than that time he and Zayn had the marshmallow eating contest on one of the bank holidays, he can still piece together that he got completely smashed the night before. By completely, of course, he means that he downed a half a dozen full-size bottles of vodka and then passed out in bed after going on some weird high calorie snack binge.

            Snickerdoodle stretches out lazily, her limbs extending in a convoluted rectangle before retracting back underneath her frame. Louis immediately feels a pang of guilt, realizing that as a terrible doggy father he forgot to feed his only child and take her out to go to the loo. Looking down at his shoes again, he feels like that wasn’t an issue, but still. It’s the principle of the matter.

            He finds his phone sitting in the dishwasher, and when he turns it on he finds twelve texts and three missed calls from Harry. Placing it back with the silverware, he turns the wash cycle on and shuts the door.

 

* * * * *

 

            By some miracle of fate, Louis manages to make it through the day at work without breaking down and crying or jumping out of a window. Apparently his boss decided today would be the perfect day to send him down to the basement archives by himself to take inventory of some pieces, and the idea of spending some time in peace and quiet was exactly what he needed.

            Sitting in the dank basement searching through filing cabinets full of information and catalogue numbers for various pieces, he can finally just sit and think about what happened the day before. Not that he wants to. He knows he needs to though, and so he does.

            Recapping it for himself, Louis deduces that he drove to the old school, broke into his old classroom, did some good old fashioned flirting with Harry, and then blew everything by getting too emotionally invested. Typical.

            Pulling a folder on some ancient Middle Eastern architecture, Louis walks to the other side of the room, retracing his steps in his head. How did he go from living with Harry to not talking to him for two years to casual fuck buddies to…whatever this was? Feeling his breath catch, he leans against a table, unsure if his head is spinning because of the alcohol or all of the thinking he’s doing.

            He’s sure Liam is frantically trying to reach him, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Niall or Zayn dropped a few calls in between in an attempt to see how things were. And of course Harry wanted to talk. But he didn’t want to talk to Harry, nor did he want to talk about Harry, so he knows he can’t talk to any of his three friends because the conversation will inevitably turn to him and he can’t have that. No matter how many cute baby clothes Niall and Zayn are buying or how many girls Liam is trying to get with, he knows them. They’ll find time to talk about it somewhere.

            Ascending from the basement to go do some more calculations, Louis leans against the elevator and heaves a sigh. He tried, he really did, he didn’t want to run this time. But yet again he got scared or too attached and balked and then this happened.

            The doors open and Louis walks right into Stan. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Louis snaps. He knows he’s being rude, but he doesn’t care. “How do you know where I work?”

            Stan follows him as he stalks down the main hallway to the ancient art department. “See, there’s this funny thing called Google. You type in a person’s name and it tells you things about them, like where they work, if there are any embarrassing videos of them—”

            “Is this really necessary?” Louis groans, rounding a corner and weaving through a group of tourists. “I’m trying to work here.”

            “Oh, I know,” Stan says, following him closely, “and I need help. I really would like to learn more about the finer aspects of contemporary western art, particularly outside of the Soviet sphere of influence.”

            Louis whirls on his heel and shoves the folder into Stan’s arms. “You think you’re so smart and funny, Stan? Do my job for me. See if I care.” He stalks off in the direction he came, but Stan is still close behind.

            “What is it with you and these bad boys, Tomlinson? I know about you and Nick Grimshaw. You would have made a really cute couple. He’s a fine bloke, you know.”

            Louis tries hard not to deck Stan in front of everybody in the museum. Luckily he’s not too hungover to think rationally. Instead, he just keeps silent and marches forward, Stan struggling to keep up behind him.

            “For such a short chap, you walk mighty fast,” Stan says lightly, and Louis stops and Stan smacks right into him, the stupid bloke, and Louis grabs the folder from him and spits ever so elegantly in his face before walking into the elevator and closing it behind him. Through the closing doors he can see Stan with a cheeky grin on his face, wiping the spit off of his cheek.

            Louis sinks to the floor of the elevator and sobs. Maybe fate isn’t so lucky after all.

 

* * * * *

            Niall’s in the middle of cooking pasta when the doorbell rings. Calling to Zayn to keep an eye on the boiling water, he jogs over to the front entrance and opens the door to a grumpy looking Louis with mussed-up hair and a slightly bleary look about him.

            “You okay, mate?” Niall asks, slightly worried. Louis just stares through him, mouth drawn in a tight line with no sense of give. Niall over his shoulder, exchanges a look with Zayn, and then tries “Wanna come in?”

            Louis follows him inside the flat, still stonefaced, and goes into the bathroom and slams the door behind him.

            “What’s with him?” Zayn asks quietly, giving the pot a stir before tapping the wooden spoon gently on the side. Niall shrugs, trying to hide how worried he is. He’s seen Louis cry before, he’s seen him get furious, but never has he been as terse as this.

            “No clue, love,” Niall says, leaning against the counter and pulling the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows. “He’s got me a bit confused though, never seen him act like that before.”

            Zayn nods in silent concern, and walks over to the table with an extra place setting, quietly laying everything down. Niall watches in the silence of the gently clinking silverware and the soft thump of the plate against the wood, feeling the strange gravity surrounding all of this weirdness.

            “Any idea when Perrie’s coming over?” Zayn asks finally, wiping his hands on a cloth as he comes back over to the stove. Niall shakes his head.

            “Nah, she said she’d be here around eight or so, but it’s just half past now.” Of all of the days Louis had to have an emotional breakdown, it had to be the one where the mother of his unborn child was coming over for dinner to celebrate the end of her first trimester.

            Then there’s a gentle knock on the door, and Zayn leaps into action, nearly tripping on the rug in an effort to answer it. He disappears for a minute and returns with a glowing Perrie in tow. Even though she’s only three months pregnant, she looks like she was born to be a mother.

            Niall found Perrie online one day when he was searching for surrogate mothers during a lunch break. He was immediately struck by how kind she looked, how smart she seemed (four A-levels) and how pretty she was. He arranged a meeting after school, got the paperwork together, and introduced her to Zayn. Soon they were sending her into a doctor’s office with a giant tube of their sperm and then she was carrying their baby.

            Her blond hair is draped gracefully over her shoulders, and even though she’s not wearing any makeup, she still looks healthy and content. There’s the slightest hint of a bump, but her clothes are generally so bohemian anyway that their loose fit would make it impossible to tell. She’s telling Zayn about her first day of morning sickness, but Niall agrees when Zayn says that he would have had no idea.

            Niall goes quickly back over to check on the pasta, turning the stove off and straining it as Zayn explains that he’s made some healthy dish he found online with a bunch of things pregnant women need. Perrie is gracious, and Niall appreciates how easily she embraces all of Zayn’s intense and overdramatic worrying. Hopefully their baby will be equally as forgiving. Otherwise Niall might go insane.

            Just as they’re sitting down to eat, the door to the loo busts open and out marches Louis, stoic and indifferent. Perrie tries smiling at him, and even looks like she’s going to say hello, but Louis just slumps back in his chair with his arms folded like a moody teenager. He doesn’t look angry, though, so Niall feels like he has no right to berate him for anything; he just looks empty.

            Zayn looks at Niall nervously, and then they both look at Perrie, who’s calmly ignoring the situation. This baby had better get her tact.

            “Anything you wanna talk about, mate?” Zayn tries.

            “No,” Louis says, not harshly or sadly, just matter of factly. It’s hard to argue with someone who states their opinion like it’s a fact, even if you disagree with it.

            “Want some food?” Niall offers. Louis shakes his head.

            “Maybe later,” he says evenly, shaking his hair from his face and looking at the ceiling. Perrie looks warily at Louis and then takes a bite of her pasta, chewing slowly as if afraid that she’ll somehow make him snap at her if she makes any sudden movements.

            There’s a long period of awkward silence, and then Perrie pipes up with a tentative, “This is really good, guys!” Zayn and Niall both offer token statements of gratitude, and then Louis looks at Perrie like he’s never noticed her sitting there.

            “Who are you?” he asks curtly. Zayn looks like he’s ready to smack Louis upside the head, but Perrie smiles shyly.

            “Perrie Edwards. I’m Zayn and Niall’s surrogate mother,” she says, extending a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

            “So you’re the one who voluntarily decided to carry the antichrist,” Louis says, unmoving. Zayn’s mouth actually looks like it’s hit the floor, and Perrie’s face goes bright red.

            “Lou, what the bloody hell are you saying?” Niall stammers finally, putting his knife down next to his plate so he doesn’t accidentally trip and stab Louis with it multiple times.

            “Well, we all know you two aren’t exactly the perfect pair,” Louis says, helping himself to some pasta. “I mean, Zayn, you’re neurotic and definitely obsessive compulsive, not to mention emotionally insecure, and Niall, you’re one of the least serious, unstable people I know.”

            Although Niall knows that Louis is basically entirely correct, he can’t help but stare at Louis in disbelief. Perrie clears her throat and smiles at Louis.

            “Well, if I’m not mistaken, you chose to be friends with them. At least I’m getting paid to sit in their company. You do it for free.”

            Louis smiles for the first time all night. “I like you,” he says, and raises his glass in a toast. Niall gets up to help Zayn pick his jaw up from the floor, and can’t help but think that things with Louis are turning into an absolute mess.

 

* * * * *

 

            “Jade,” Liam says with a grin, setting down his glass of champagne, “This has been so lovely, but I’m afraid I have a bit of business to attend to.”

            Jade frowns into her drink. “Again? This happened last week.”

            Liam touches her arm sweetly, rubbing his thumb over her wrist. He knows how much she likes that, and it seems to calm her down. “I know, sweetheart, but you know how demanding this job is. Just think, we’ll have so much fun in Paris when this semester’s over!”

            Her face lights up, and she grabs his arm excitedly. “Did you say Paris?” she whispers. Liam just grins, and walks her to the door. They kiss, say the whole deal, I love you and all that, and then five minutes later Danielle walks in and the cycle repeats itself.

            By the time he sees Danielle out the door and gets ready for bed, it’s approaching midnight, and Liam stifles a yawn as he scratches the skin above his waistband. Jade sure knows how to leave a mark.

            Just as he’s getting into bed, he hears his doorbell ring. Curious, he walks to the front door, and opens it to see a half-drunk, exhausted-looking Louis standing in the rain.

            “Hey, Lou,” he says, opening the door all the way. “What are you doing here?”

            Louis’ face clouds over with something unintelligible. “You weren’t wondering what happened?”

            Slightly confused, Liam scratches his ear. “Nah, mate, should I be?”

            Louis just rolls his eyes and turns around. “Forget it,” he grumbles and walks back down the steps into the downpour.

            Liam tries calling after him, but is interrupted by the phone ringing. He answers it right away, but by the time he’s done talking to Niall and is back at the door, Louis is already gone.

 

* * * * *

 

            Even though it’s close to one in the morning, Louis keeps driving. He has places to be, and those places don’t involve anything here. He’s called his boss and told her he wants to take that assignment in Paris for a few months. He just has to get out of here.

            Niall and Zayn are starting their life, and he’s incredibly jealous. Perrie seems really sweet, and the perfect mix between the two of them, if that’s even possible, and she’s carrying their baby. In six months they’ll be too busy changing nappies and feeding it peas to think about hanging out or going to the pub.

            Liam’s got a good thing going for him too, even if it’s complicated and a little bit chauvinist. He’s happy, and he’s certainly getting laid on a regular basis, and if it works for him Louis feels like he has no room to criticize. Eventually he’ll choose one of the two and they’ll settle down and start a life together too.

            Stan, for whatever reason, is now somehow back in Louis’ life, and that doesn’t make any sense, but it’s all just so complicated and annoying that Louis just can’t deal with him. He’s like a mosquito, small and unassuming, but he keeps biting Louis over and over again, drawing blood and leaving these welts that pocket him and he hates it. So there’s that.

            And then there’s Harry Styles. And the only thing Louis can think of to say to that is fuck him. Fuck Harry for making him feel like there was a future, or the chance of something together that was somewhat normal. Fuck Harry for being the one thing that kept him grounded and suspended in some alternate reality at the same time. Fuck Harry for being really hot and a good kisser with a nice ass. Fuck Harry for thinking that if he just kept chasing Louis, he’d stop running.

            He feels cheap, because it is a cheap thing to do. It’s selfish, and it’s a pattern but he doesn’t care. He didn’t leave a note this time, he didn’t feel like he had to. There was no explanation needed. All he left was an email in Harry’s inbox, with a single word written in it.

            _sorry._

* * * * *

 

            The gates are stretching out before him like some stupid race, and he can’t seem to get his head wrapped around how much distance there is to cover in such a short amount of time. He’s pushing his way past travelers, vaulting over those little line barrier things, and certainly earning the ire of more than a few security personnel, but he still feels like he’s cutting it way too close.

            Leaping over a stack of suitcases, he passes Gate F, then Gate G, and then H, and realizes that he’s so close but he’s not close enough to make it. He keeps going though, hoping that the rain will hold things up and he’ll be able to make it to the flight on time.

            Every breath feels like a struggle, and he can feel his lungs fighting to take in air against the pressure he’s feeling both inside and outside. This is the most important race of his non-existent racing career, and he’s losing, he knows it, but he won’t give up. He won’t stop running until he gets where he needs to go.

            With one final burst, he makes it to Gate O and then to Gate P, weaving around benches and arriving at the entrance with one final burst of energy before being stopped by the flight attendant. He keeps trying to talk, but he can’t breathe, so he just tries to get himself together while the woman asks him what the matter is.

            “My name is Harry Styles, and I’m trying to stop this plane from leaving.” The flight attendant looks at him as if he’s crazy, because he feels crazy, and probably is, but he keeps going. “My…” He hesitates for a second. “My boyfriend is on it, and I need to tell him something, it’s really urgent.”

            But it’s too late. As he gets turned away from the gate, Harry just shuts everything out until he gets back to his car. He sits for a while in the dark, just breathing along with the rhythm of the rain falling on the roof.

            Opening his email, he reads the message for the thousandth time. _sorry_. With shaking fingers, he types one back, sends it, and closes his phone before leaning back into the seat.

            _me too._ _  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow it's been two months yeesh i'm sorry lol
> 
> hope this was worth the wait (it probably wasn't cause i'm a shit writer and nobody reads these anyway) xxo


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all i am SO sorry this has taken me forever to write i so apologize you have no idea
> 
> things have been crazy, like graduation and college shopping and things but such is life
> 
> THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for being so interested in what i have to write about it means the world to me!! xoxo

The alarm goes off in his room about two hours before he’d even feel remotely comfortable waking up, and Louis rolls over with a grumble and slams the snooze button. It’s one of those moments where you first wake up in the morning and you can’t even feel your face and then you have to have every thought from the night before flood back and slam you in the face. So when he sits up and rubs his eyes, expecting all of the crap that’s occupied the last three months in his brain to surface, he’s surprised when nothing happens.

            A little bit disappointed, he tries to remember the last time he woke up and didn’t immediately go to thoughts of _him_ , and he can’t. Although of course he’s thinking about it now, but that doesn’t count. Normally he opens his eyes and then immediately gets socked in the forehead by a barrage of emotions, torrid anger and heartbreak and everything shitty that happens.

            His strategy was to just let everything overwhelm him for a little bit, and then just push it out of his head. It worked surprisingly well. Well enough, he supposes, that he doesn’t have to do it anymore. Odd, but pleasant enough.

            Leaning over to get his glasses off the nightstand, he sees Snickerdoodle curled up on the floor next to the bed, snoring louder than he thought it was possible for a dog to do. Regardless, she looks peaceful and he smiles softly thinking of how happy she must feel right now.

            He manages to get himself standing, working the kinks of sleep out of all of his limbs with a nice yoga stretch he learned from that yoga class he took a few weeks back, and then walks into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of wine.

            Taking a sip, he thinks about how weird that would have sounded if he’d heard someone doing that a few months ago. Now, though, it’s routine.

            He walks over to the window and throws open the shutters revealing a beautiful Spanish morning. A breakfast in Barcelona is nothing like a breakfast in England. Tea is for wimps.

 

* * * * *

            “Niall, you’ve got those eggs cooking, yea?”

            Niall looks up from the skillet where he’s guarding the omelet he’s making. It’s slightly burned on the underside, but he’s sure no one will notice.

            “Yeah, no, everything’s fine here!” he calls back, giving the thing a flip. He never was a fan of eggs. They’re just so…yellow.

            “You know Perrie needs hers with extra vegetables, correct? She needs her folic acid,” Zayn shouts back to him from where he’s making some absolutely horrendous kale-tomato-pomegranate smoothie thing that Perrie will supposedly be more than happy to have alongside her fried vegetables with a side of egg (because that’s what the omelet is increasingly becoming, Niall nervously sees as he does another flip).

            “Yeah, yeah, I got it, don’t worry,” Niall shouts, looking for another egg to add to counterbalance the slightly overwhelming amount of vegetables currently occupying the skillet. Thank God he’s not the pregnant one. Otherwise he’d be sneaking out all the time for a Big Mac or something. Too many vegetables for his liking.

            “Niall, I know that you’re currently having a very sardonic internal monologue at the moment, but Perrie will be here in five minutes and I’m pretty sure that omelet is far from done,” Zayn interrupts.

            Niall looks into space with a less than bemused expression. Clearly Zayn knows him too well.

            Turning off the stove, he spoons the omelet onto a plate, onto which Zayn drops a sprig of something green and leafy that Niall wouldn’t recognize even if he ate it, which he is not planning to do, on top as he passes by.

            Niall walks the plate into the dining room and sets it at Perrie’s place, careful not to drop or break or move or breath on the dish while he’s carrying it, and then looks glumly at his place setting, which is occupied by some bizarre fig Belgian waffle concoction that looks wretched.

            “Can I just have cereal, Zayn?” Niall calls into his boyfriend, but then the doorbell rings and Zayn actually squeals (why Niall decided to have a baby with this hypersensitive, OCD freak is beyond him) and rushes to the door.

            Perrie walks in behind Zayn, glowing with the aura that only a mother in her second trimester has. Her baby bump is definitely more noticeable and she’s taken to wearing belted ensembles. This morning, she’s got a blue and white tie-dye muumuu with a simple leather belt partitioning her upper body from the elegant curve of her stomach. She hasn’t worn makeup once since Zayn and Niall met her, and today is no exception. With her hair pulled back in a casual ponytail, she looks simply –

            “You look gorgeous, Per,” Zayn gushes, pulling out a chair for her to sit down in. She smiles graciously at Zayn, politely declining his attempts to help her sit down.

            “Zayn, you’re too kind, really,” she says. Looking up at Niall, she smiles at him too. “Hi, Niall, how are you doing?”

            “Great, yeah, good,” he says, smiling nervously. “You look…” he struggles for the right word, and settles on “Pregnant.”

            Perrie laughs heartily, which makes up for the look of death Zayn gives him. “That’s what we’re all going for, right?” she says with a wink. “Now, what’s for breakfast?”

            “Lots of folic acid,” Niall mumbles, sitting down with a sigh.

 

* * * * *

 

            Finishing _El Mundo_ and setting it down on the table next to his breakfast plate, Louis takes a deep breath and leans back to take in the scenery. The sun’s still fairly low in the sky, but since it’s spring just bordering on summer, Louis will take it. Plus it’s a Monday, so, the sun can take its time.

            The great thing about life in Spain, Louis has decided, is that life doesn’t actually start until about nine or ten in the morning. And then it stops for lunch and a nap. And then it picks up again before stopping at seven. It’s like being a kid twenty four-seven.

            Checking his watch, he confirms that he still has another two hours till he’s due at work, which is fine by him. When he applied for a job as a curator-at-large for Gaudí’s park in the heart of Barcelona, he wasn’t expecting anything. After all, he’s a Brit with a very…sporadic…résumé and little to no practical experience in the field of outdoor sculptural art. But, for whatever reason, he got the job, and now he literally spends every day outside maintaining the art pieces and giving tours and just being a part of the art as it lives and breathes.

            The job’s pretty great, actually. He doesn’t do a whole lot in terms of hands-on work with the art, not like he did at the National Gallery, but he does get the interaction with everyday people and an opportunity to teach. Unlike his job in England, for one, he gets the chance to set his own schedule and job responsibilities, and unless he asks for something ridiculous like a free puppy he basically can do whatever he wants.

            It’s not really the same, though. He misses his students, and the tours he would give to famous people. Plus the opportunity to just spend time being with art in the silence of his own company. There’s a lot more noise here, much of which he doesn’t actually understand because he’s only partially fluent in Spanish, but from what he can understand he knows that the general energy of the city is different.

            Snickerdoodle pads onto the balcony with him, and Louis feeds her a scrap of egg that he cooked up for his breakfast. She pants gratefully at him before going back inside to lay down.

            It’s funny how life just keeps on going, no matter what may happen anywhere else outside him, who’s with him…or who isn’t.

 

* * * * *

 

            “So have you heard anything from Louis?” Perrie asks, taking another bite of her omelet which Niall is frankly surprised any normal human being is able to palate.

            Zayn shakes his head. “Not really, no. An email here or there, to let us know he’s okay, but nothing extensive.”

            “We know he’s working somewhere in Barcelona,” Niall chimes in, covertly sneaking a cheerio from the napkin he smuggled into the dining room. “But we have no idea where, besides the fact that it’s probably art related.” Zayn just sighs and slumps slightly in his chair.

            Perrie reaches for her smoothie. “I’m sure he just needs his space,” she says gently, in that comforting way that makes Niall always think that everything will be okay just because Perrie said so.

            “It’s been three months,” Zayn says quietly. “It’s hard not to worry.”

            “And I know you’ve known him a long time,” Perrie adds, going for another sip of whatever inhuman thing Zayn has tried to poison their baby with that the two of them apparently love. “So of course it’s hard for you both.”

            All three of them sit in silence for a while before Zayn stands up decisively. “Well, I’ll collect the dishes if everyone’s done.”

            Niall suddenly remembers what he forgot to tell Zayn the day before. “Uh, hon?” he says apprehensively. “We’ve got someone else coming.”

            Zayn looks at him as if he’s just stabbed his own mother. “Excuse me?”

            “Yeah…” Niall says, clearing his throat and shifting uncomfortably. “I, uh, invited Liam. Guess I forgot to tell you.”

            “Yes,” Zayn says through gritted teeth, “I guess so.”

            In her typical way, Perrie just smiles at Niall and sits back in her chair. “Well, it’s always nice to have more company! It’s great to get to know all of your friends, anyhow.”

            Niall smiles thankfully at the literal goddess sitting in the chair next to him and looks almost triumphantly at Zayn who looks like all of his hopes and dreams for something resembling the Brady Bunch were crushed.

            “Might as well wait,” Zayn says tersely, taking a seat in the wooden chair and trying not to break one of the armrests off. The three sit silently again for a while, each lost in their own thoughts.

            Suddenly, there’s a gentle chime and Niall jumps at the chance to escape the vortex of awkward silence and runs over to the door.

            “Liam, thank God you’re here, things are hella awkward,” he says as he opens the door, but then stops upon seeing who it is.

            “Oh. Harry. Hi.” Harry Styles stands at the door, looking slightly disheveled and very sleep deprived. “Come on in,” Niall offers.

            “Is there something else you forgot to tell me?” Zayn nearly shouts when Niall walks back into the dining room followed by Harry.

            “I didn’t say I was coming, Zayn, don’t worry,” Harry says, plopping himself down in an empty seat across from Perrie.

            “You must be the wildly famous Harry Styles,” Perrie says, extending her hand.

            “I’m assuming Louis told you about me,” Harry says quietly. When Perrie doesn’t say anything, he continues, “He’s probably right, you know. I’ve got a real penchant for driving people away.”

            “Let’s talk about something lighter, shall we?” Zayn butts in, walking over to Harry with a glass of orange juice. “Want some, H?”

            Harry nods silently and half-smiles at Zayn in gratitude. Taking the glass, he sips from it, and then sets it down.

            “So, I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’m here,” he says. They all look at him expectantly as he takes a few deep breaths and prepares to launch into an explanation.

            “That’s the doorbell,” Zayn says, jumping up, “it must be Liam.” Harry lets out a breath that he didn’t seem to know he was holding and stares at his hands while Perrie and Niall make awkward eye contact from across the table.

            “Hallo, mates!” Liam says cheerily as he strides into the dining room, stopping short when he sees the awkwardness before him. “Uh, everyone okay here?”

            “Something like that,” Niall says, sneaking another cheerio.

            “I’m Perrie Edwards,” Perrie offers, extending a hand to Liam. He looks her up and down, and, clearly impressed by what he sees, takes it.

            “Nice to meet you, Perrie. I’m Liam. And, uh, listen, I know that you’re gonna be spending a lot of time around here, so here’s my number in case you, uh, need summin.”

            Perrie takes a look at the piece of paper and laughs in his face. “Oh, you must be kidding me! Trying to pick up a pregnant woman? Just sit down, smart ass.”

            A blushing Liam takes a seat next to Zayn, muttering “Must be the hormones,” before helping himself to some fruit.

            “So you were saying, Harry?” Zayn asks, turning to the overly silent curly-haired bloke next to him.

            Harry takes a deep breath and then looks at all of them. “I think it’s time to go get Louis.”

 

* * * * *

 

            “¿Ay, qué piensa usted que haga?” Louis shouts at a man who nearly walks into him on his way to work. “Sí, debe sentirlo.” He grumbles for a few more sidewalk blocks before forgetting it happened. That’s what Spain does to him, makes him forget.

            Something about the air or the food or the people that are there take everything bad that ever happens and wipes it away. Being in Spain is like having a reset button in the palm of your hand; whenever you want something to go better, or to go your way, you just close your eyes and breathe.

            He passes by a man playing something on a guitar and throws a couple of euros into the man’s case. He smiles gratefully back at Louis, breaking into some sort of song as he walks by.

            _Ay, mi amor, mi rosa blanca_

_Que me ha perdida recientamente_

_No quiero olvidarte_

_Mi amor, mi rosa blanca, blanca, blanca_

Taking a quick left at the next block, Louis finds himself in front of Antonio Gaudí’s famous park. The mosaic tiled lizard perches itself imposingly on the stairs close to the entrance, and Louis gives its head a pat as he walks by. He keeps expecting it to nudge him back or something, it feels so alive.

            That’s the other thing about Spain that he’s come to love: he feels so safe. To be fair, he’s never not felt safe in his life, except when it’s with _him_. And he’s done with that, so he should feel safe for the rest of his life and that will be that.

            Scaling the stairs, he finds himself in the middle of some elaborate marriage proposal. Surprised and somewhat disoriented, Louis spins around to see that everybody is watching this circle of activity that he has somehow walked into the midst of.

            In broken English, a man walks up to him and asks him to take a picture of the newly engaged couple. Smiling shyly, Louis takes the camera and lines himself up with the shot.

            They’re a really beautiful couple, when he stops and looks at them. He is almost six feet tall, with jet black hair and a boyish charm about him that stands in contrast to the fledgling wrinkles on his face. She’s about five inches shorter and brunette, with brilliant blue eyes and a sweet smile that reminds Louis of his sister. She’s bleary eyed from tears of happiness, and she proudly displays the ring for Loui and the camera.

            Louis counts to three and snaps the picture, taking a few extra for good measure, and then hands it back to him. The man is clearly so happy that he gives Louis a hug, which would normally make him laugh, but instead makes him feel like he’s going to cry. He wants so badly to share his happiness with everyone around him, but Louis physically can’t have any part of it. It rips his heart apart a little bit.

            He walks in a daze to work, where he tells his boss he’s not feeling well, and he clearly believes Louis’ story because he sends him home with some weird soup thing that’s supposed to cure any illness. Louis stumbles back to his apartment like a zombie, feeling empty and just apathetic about everything.

            He can’t do this anymore, this whole unfeeling thing. He’s got to stop pretending that he’s not over _him_.

            He’s not in the least bit over Harry Styles, and it’s time to admit that.

 

* * * * *

 

            “So let me get this straight,” Zayn says after Harry has finished explaining his master plan to the table, “you plan to fly out to Spain, track down Louis even though you have no idea where in the country he is, express your undying love for him, spend a few steamy hours back at his apartment and then fly home in united triumph?”

            “Sounds about right,” Harry confirms, the spark back in his eyes.

            “It’s crazy. I like it,” Perrie says.

            “Me too,” Liam says, staring at Perrie who looks at him like she could not possibly be less impressed.

            “Alright, what’s first?” Niall asks, clapping his hands together. “Are we going to Spain?”

            Everyone turns to stare at Niall. “Who said anything about we?” Zayn asks.

            “Road trip!” Liam says in triumph, throwing his hands in the air. As everyone dissolves into excited chaos, Niall can’t help but see that Harry’s smiling, for the first time since Louis left. This would be the trip to fix everything…it just had to go off without a hitch. _  
_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK AS LONG AS IT DID
> 
> I LITERALLY FORGOT I EVEN WROTE THIS
> 
> AND THEN I RE READ IT AND REALIZED IT 
> 
> I AM SO SORRY
> 
> SO
> 
> SO
> 
> SORRY

Harry nervously drums his fingers on the armrest of his seat and stares out the window trying to think of something other than the growing pit in his stomach. From the minute he had revealed his grandiose plan (coined by Niall as Operation Screwy Louis, a name which was so Niall but also so not the point of this trip), he’d been a complete wreck. It’s been so long since he’d seen Louis, and for all he knew he’d forgotten all about him. And then what if they got there and Louis didn’t want him like that, didn’t feel the same way anymore? Or what if he ran away again? Or what if-

“Mate, stop it, you’re driving me bloody crazy,” Liam says, grabbing Harry’s hand before he can complete another round of finger tapping.

Harry looks over at him vacantly, having forgotten that he was even on a plane much less next to someone. “Sorry,” he says, rubbing his hand on his sweater. “‘M just nervous.”

Liam looks at him sympathetically. “I know. It’s all gonna work out though, don’t worry.”

Harry gives a half nod and turns back to the window, trying to lose himself in his head again. Just as Liam leans back in the seat again, he turns around to face him. “But what if it doesn’t?” he asks, and Liam just smiles sadly.

“Harry, one way or another, you’re going to get closure from this. It’ll be a win win situation; either he comes home with you and you go back to being the art-obsessed goofballs we know and love, or…” He trails off, looking at the ceiling of the cabin. “Or you go your separate ways.”

There’s a silence as Harry processes that. He leans back in his seat, head titled slightly to the left so he can look out the window as the ground crew prepares them for takeoff. Taking a deep breath, he sinks back into the seat and looks through the movie selections. They’re not even off the ground yet, he can’t be going to the end of their relationship.

Besides, he’s got an hour or two ahead of him. It’s gonna be a while.

* * * *

The sun is at the top of the sky as Louis steps out of his flat onto the sidewalk. It’s blinding, and hot, and he throws a hand up to shield his eyes from its glare. One thing about Spain that almost never happens in England: really strong sunshine. Hot sunshine.

Poor Snickerdoodle is doing a stress yawn. Clearly her thin fur coat is still too much for her in this heat. They’ve been outside for a matter of seconds and Louis is already dripping with sweat.

He walks down the sidewalk and gently pulls Snickerdoodle along. He knows that she does not want to go, but if he can just get her to pee, they can go back inside to the air conditioning. Louis still has no clue how people survived before central air.

Snickerdoodle sniffs at the base of a few bushes and Louis looks around at his surroundings. It’s about noon, so the streets are fairly crowded with kids coming back from school for their siesta and various businessmen and women running off to lunch appointments. Across the street, an old woman sits trying to sell flowers sitting in empty vases, wilting from the heat. _It’s only April,_ Louis thinks. _How hot does it get in August?_ He doesn’t even want to think about it, he’ll deal with it when he gets there. But does he want to get there?

Ever since yesterday, when Louis finally admitted that he was not in the least bit over a certain Harry Styles, he’s been reevaluating his entire life plan. He called in sick today, and the park manager seemed to know that something was up because he didn’t ask any questions or request overtime later in the week. Something in him wants to fulfill his recent life pattern and quit his job, skip town, and start over somewhere else. France always sounded nice. Maybe Germany. He’d seen that there were a few openings in some galleries in Berlin.

Then he looks back at his apartment and sighs. He likes the place. It’s charming, and airy, and just big enough that he has space but just small enough that he doesn’t feel like there should be somebody else there living with him. He gets lonely sometimes, of course. But all in all it’s nice. Snickerdoodle keeps him company.

He hears a light noise coming from her direction and sees her squatting in the bushes. _Finally_ , he thinks. After she declares she’s finished her business with two backward scratches on the dirt, he walks her back to the apartment and buzzes himself in. She happily trots into the entrance way and laps greedily from a bowl of water sitting inside the entranceway. Louis is tempted to take some for himself but thinks better of it.

Snickerdoodle leads the way up the steps, Louis following close behind. Something about going from the oppressive heat to the gentle chill of the indoors makes him incredibly tired, and even getting up the stairs is a struggle.

They finally get back inside the flat, and Louis walks over to check his answering machine while Snickerdoodle goes over to the small tub of ice chips he has in the corner. Pressing the button, he heads to the fridge and pours himself a tall glass of ice tea and takes a huge swig.

“Hey Louis, it’s Liam,” the first message says. “Don’t panic, but Niall, Zayn, Perrie, and I are headed over to Spain to see you. Oh, and um…we’re bringing Harry too.” Louis nearly chokes on his iced tea. “Okay, well see you in a few hours! Bye!”

Louis can feel his throat closing up as he grabs the counter for support. Has he been out in the sun too long? What the fuck is happening?

“Oh my God,” he says out loud. “Harry Styles is coming.”

Snickerdoodle whimpers and crawls into her bed, tail between her legs. Louis wishes he could do the same.

* * * * *

“Liam,” Harry whispers.

“Mate, we’re still about forty minutes away,” Liam grumbles, rolling over in the chair and pulling the sleep mask further down over his eyes. Even though it’s only a two hour flight, Liam will take any excuse to have a nap.

“Okay,” Harry whispers back. “Thanks.”

He turns back to the window. He can’t get his knee to stop shaking. It’s resting up against the back of the chair in front of him, because he has long legs, and he only realizes he’s doing it when the person in front of him turns around and asks him to stop shaking their chair. Harry holds his knees for the rest of the flight.

He tried watching telly for a little bit. There was an old Batman movie on, but not the one with Michelle Pfieffer as Catwoman, so he skipped that. He tried watching the latest Jennifer Lopez rom-com but found it too distracting because her love interest had a really nice butt, which reminded him of Louis. Documentaries on elephants (Louis’ favorite animal) and the food industry (carrots were one of Louis’ favorite vegetables) didn’t go over well either. Eventually he settled for a live map of the airplane route and looked down at his knees as he gripped them close to his body to stop them from shaking like they were bound to do.

Looking across the aisle, he can see Zayn obsessing over Perrie, making sure she’s comfortable, has enough pillows and enough water to drink and all that. Being the good sport she is, she laughs him off multiple times and cheerfully tolerates him shifting pillows and blankets around her for maximal protection and cover. He can see Niall is trying not to haul off and smack Zayn, even though he’s taken several Xanax for his fear of flying.

Seeing as there’s literally nobody willing to talk to him, Harry just looks out the window at the clouds rolling by beneath them. Sometimes he wonders what it would be like to caught inside of a thunderstorm as it enveloped the plane. Something about a good thunderstorm, the slow roll of the thunder over the city and the steady pelting of the rain made him feel very cuddly and romantic, just like when he and Louis used to- He catches his knees shaking again and mentally scolds them for misbehaving.

No matter how often he thinks about it, he can’t seem to figure out how Louis is going to respond when they show up. He asked Liam to call ahead because he knows Louis, and if they were to just show up at his doorstep he would shut down and freak out and jump out a window or something, although for all he knows, the advance notice means that he’s already booked a ticket out of the country and is selling his flat right now. So he has no idea what’s going to happen. All he knows is that the pit in his stomach he has from having been alone so long is too big and the only person that can fill that is Louis. So he has to give this a chance, because the alternative is too bleak to even consider.

“Liam,” Harry whispers again. Maybe this time they’ll be a little bit closer.

* * * * *

 _I’m really not good at dealing with pain_ , Louis thinks as he pours himself another glass of wine and downs it in one swig. The wine makes his head feel fuzzy and unclear in a way that’s more in line with his approximation of what it means to be thinking rationally than when Harry was in his head.

He hates being alone. He really fucking hates it, if he’s being honest with himself. There are only so many times you can watch KylieFever2002 and re-runs of Coupling before you get sick and tired of being the only voice you hear in the room.

He misses sharing his bed with somebody, waking up and opening his eyes to see somebody else’s face lost in the bliss of sleep. He misses lazy mornings where he gets up in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and makes coffee and brings breakfast back to bed with a copy of the Times and Frank Sinatra on the static-ridden FM radio. He misses checking his phone at lunch and seeing a text message reading something along the lines of love you babe x and having it make his entire day better. He misses coming home from a long day of work and getting into the shower and then feeling another person’s body heat against your own as they work out all the tension of a rough day. He misses going for drives in the summer and getting lost and winding up at some random produce stand and shoplifting fruit and driving away like some half-assed version of Bonnie and Clyde. He misses going to sleep with the last thought on his mind being Harry and waking up with him as his first.

Feeling a sudden sense of purpose, he walks to his bedroom and pulls his suitcase out from under his bed. Moving it into one corner, he pulls a safe out from the closet and opens it up. Enough money to get him through the next two months of rent. His landlord shouldn’t mind that arrangement even if he’ll lose his safety deposit. Opening up his drawers, he begins taking everything out of them and loading them into the suitcase in swift motions, lift, turn, place, turn, lift, turn, place, turn-

And then he spots it, in the back corner of the second drawer from the bottom. Reaching for it with heart in his throat, he pulls it out and feels everything grow thick with sorrow. It’s Harry’s dress shirt, the one he was wearing the first day they met. That blue gingham pattern Louis always said made him look like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. It’s slightly wrinkled, with a stain on the left shoulder from when Louis accidentally spilled a bit of his lager on him, and when he lifts it to his nose he feels the tears start falling because it smells so much, oh so much, like Harry and everything he loved - no, loves about that boy.

He falls backwards onto the bed, just holding the shirt to his face and sobbing into it. He can’t keep running away from him, his soulmate. He’s seen what the universe is trying to give him, this beautiful amazing boy, and he has time and time again thrown it back and pretended like it didn’t matter. But it mattered. It always mattered. It mattered oh so much.

Taking a deep breath, he stands up and begins putting the clothes back in his drawer. He takes the empty suitcase and places it back under his bed, and pushes the safe back into the closet.

Padding back into the living room, he sits down on the couch and waits. For once in his life, the first time, in fact, he’s waiting for Harry to come get him.

* * * * *

“Jesus fucking Christ, Zayn, how much luggage did you bring?” Liam grumbles as the conveyer belt comes around for its third cycle with Zayn continuing to drag more suitcases off of it.

“Shut up, Liam, Perrie’s heavily pregnant and I did not want to take any chances,” Zayn snaps back, hauling a large back embroidered with AMH on it.

“What does that stand for, Z?” Niall asks.

Zayn slings it over his shoulder and throws several other bags into the unwilling and unaware arms of Harry. “Oh, Arthur Malik Horan,” he says casually and grabs Perrie’s shoulder bag, starting down the terminal hallway.

“Um, what?” Niall asks, his voice cracking slightly. “Arthur Malik Horan?”

“Yeah, our son,” Zayn says over his shoulder. Harry looks at Perrie who looks tired but very much over it. Liam looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, and Niall looks like somebody took away his Nando’s.

“We’re having a son?” Niall squeaks, “And you already named him?”

“We’ll talk about this later, the cab’s here,” Zayn says without looking back.

Perrie is the first to begin walking, shaking her head slowly and taking a deep breath. It’s the least zen Harry’s ever seen her and that’s saying something. He follows her, and is faintly aware of Liam dragging an open-mouthed Niall behind him.

“What if I don’t wanna name him Arthur?” Niall shouts up to Zayn.

“Well, everything’s already been monogramed so you’ll have to choose another A name,” Zayn shouts back.

“Not fair, Zayn, not fair!”

Harry welcomes their bickering as a distraction from the noise in his head and the butterflies doing somersaults in his stomach. He’s never been this nervous in his entire life, not even when he had the solo in “A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes” as a second year or during his first day of teaching. This is it, he thinks. Make it or break it.

Niall and Zayn continue yelling the entire way to the cab. Liam runs ahead and helps Perrie into the cab, which she seems to float into as elegantly as a heavily pregnant woman can. Liam lets Harry in next, practically shoves Zayn in after him, and then gets in after him. Niall takes the passenger seat, still shouting the entire time.

“Niall, I don’t understand why it’s a big deal,” Zayn says as Liam tries to inform the driver where they want to go in heavily broken Spanish.

“Because, Zayn, it’s our motherfucking baby. Like, our BABY. And you named him. Without asking me!” Niall shouts back as the driver looks confused. Somebody behind them honks.

“Ni, it’s not a big deal, you just pick another A name. Whatever!” Zayn says, leaning back and folding his arms across his chest. Liam tries again in his broken Spanish.

“It is too a big deal! I don’t want to pick another A name! What if I wanted to name him Paul? Or like, I don’t know, Sam or something?”

“Sam was not one of the names we discussed!” Zayn says testily.

“Neither was Arthur!” Niall shouts back.

The driver curses loudly in Spanish and Liam curses loudly in English. Perrie leans forward in her seat.

“Por favor, necesitamos viajar a la calle tres manzanas a la izquierda del parque con los estatuas de Gaudí,” she says without missing a beat. The driver nods and smiles gratefully, and they get on their way.

Everyone is shocked into silence. Perrie leans back and begins lazily twirling her hair around her finger.

“Is there anything you can’t do?” Liam asks in wonder.

“Make them stop bickering,” Perrie says in an even tone. Harry swears Liam cums in his pants. He has such a thing for women with power.

The drive is short, but it feels like years to Harry. Every time they hit a red light, he starts fidgeting, and at one point Niall reaches behind him to smack him on the leg because he’s jostling the chair so much. He closes his eyes and remembers to keep breathing, in, out, in out. _LouisishereI’mgoingtoseeLouisholyshitholyshitholyshit_ In, out, in out. _YeahokaybreathingisgreatandwhateverbutLouisishereandthisisitthisisthefinalcountdown_ In, out, in, out.

Liam looks over at him with concern. “You okay, mate?” he asks.

Harry smiles wearily. “Trying to remember how to breathe,” he says.

Liam reaches over and rubs his leg comfortingly. Perrie makes eye contact with Liam and Harry swears they just had eye sex or something because his grip on Harry’s leg tightens until he has to physically pry Liam’s hand off of him.

The driver says something in Spanish and then Perrie responds back in the affirmative. Harry knows that much Spanish, at least. He hangs a right, and the car slows to a halt in front of some tall white buildings.

Perrie is the first one out, and she goes over to talk to and pay the driver. Harry nearly throws himself out of the cab and starts nervously pacing back and forth in front of the sidewalk. Niall gets out of the passenger seat and goes to get some of the bags out of the trunk, sees another bag with “Arthur” neatly sewn into it and starts screaming at Zayn again. Liam tries to go and break up their argument but quickly realizes doing so would endanger his health.

Harry looks up at the building and tries to imagine which one Louis is in. Is he as nervous as he feels right now? He wonders if Louis is already gone, or if he’s sitting upstairs preparing to leave Harry once and for all.

“Harry?” Liam asks hesitantly.

“I think I’m gonna puke,” Harry groans.

Liam places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s all gonna be okay, Haz,” he says and the two of them walk up the stairs, scanning the apartment listings.

“There it is,” Harry says, gulping in fear. “Tomlinson, 4C.” Liam rings the buzzer and waits.

Upstairs Louis hears the doorbell rings and doesn’t move, just remains laying on the couch and staring at the ceiling. Snickerdoodle’s ears perk up and she walks over to the door, looking expectantly at her owner. Louis doesn’t want to let them in. He doesn’t want to let Harry back into his life. But he knows the alternative of not doing so is losing Harry forever. And he can’t let him go, not again.

Taking a deep but shaky breath, he sits up and walks over to the door and buzzes them in. He paces back and forth in front of the door, feeling like he’s burning a hole in the floor.

Liam leads the way up the stairs, Harry silently counting off the floors in his head.

 _One_. Everything in him feels like it’s on fire, every atom in his body moving at a million miles an hour. He’s so close to Louis, so close to feeling him again, holding him, seeing his eyes crinkle at the edges when he smiles.

 _Two_. Each step feels heavy underneath his feet, like he’s wearing boots made of iron. It’s like his body is sinking into each step, molten liquid trapped beneath the weight of this decision and he’s not sure if he can make it out alive but he’s gonna damn well try.

 _Three_. God, he can’t breathe. It feels like he’s climbing a mountain, so out of breath with anticipation and excitement that he can’t see straight anymore. Visions of his life with Louis start flashing in front of him so fast he has trouble walking.

 _Four_. And just like that, they’re standing in front of Louis’ apartment and Harry can’t breathe and he just doesn’t care anymore and all he can stand to do is open the door without being invited in and he opens it and then Louis is there and their eyes lock for a split second and Harry is running to him and he just collapses in Louis’ arms and the two of them stand in the middle of the room crying and clutching at each other like this a wall that’s been standing up for so long and suddenly it just collapsed and they feel free.

“Harry, I-”

“Louis, look-”

“No, no, Harry it’s all my fault-”

“Louis stop, you didn’t do anything wrong-”

Eventually Louis just puts a hand over his mouth and Harry just stares at him slightly stunned at this sudden touch of skin and he has a weird urge to lick Louis’ hand that he suppresses. When Louis is finally convinced that Harry will definitely be quiet, he cups his face in his hands and looks him in the eye.

“Harry Styles, I am so sorry. I am so sorry from running away from you. I am so sorry that I made you chase after me all this time, and forced you to give up everything to come after me. I’ve been so selfish and so scared because what I feel for you is so scary to me. I’m in love with you, Harry, and that scares the shit out of me. I’ve never felt about anybody the way I feel about you. You’re my world, and the first thing I think of when I wake up and the last thing I think of when I go to bed at night. Everything I am, you accept, and I’ve treated you like shit for that. I am so so sorry, Harry. Please, please take me back. I don’t want to run anymore. I have you, that’s all I need. I don’t want to run, Harry, I don’t wanna-”

And then Harry is kissing Louis, and it’s like suddenly the world snaps back into order and the planets start moving around the sun again and everything makes sense, the laws of nature have returned and right now Harry’s lips are on Louis’ and they are kissing, and he missed this, missed how he tastes like strawberries and smells like musty library books and Chinese takeaway and the strong grip of his hands on Harry’s face. All of it, he missed all of it. And now he has it again, and he never wants to let it go.

“Never let go of me, Harry,” Louis murmurs, breaking away from the kiss.

Harry smiles at him through love-slanted eyes. “Never, Louis,” he whispers.

“Well this display of affection is very touching and all that,” Perrie says from behind them, “but I think my water just broke. Sorry, it got on your hardwoods.”

There is silence for all of ten seconds, and then all hell breaks loose.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS JUST SO YOU KNOW LOTS OF EXPLICIT SEX IN THIS CHAPTER DON'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU

“Okay, team, let’s move!” Liam shouts, and suddenly everybody is moving at once and not in an orderly way that they’ll look back on someday with fondness for how organized and effective they were but in a way where there’s also lots of shouting and bumping into each other and maybe Harry sneakily sticking his hand down the front of Louis’ pants and making him let out an inhuman moan accompanied by a full body shudder that attracts the attention of everyone else in the room.

“Sorry, I’m just excited,” Louis says, trying to keep from busting out of his pants.

Harry grins cheekily from behind the assembled group. “I know you are, Lou.” Louis wants to jump him.

But that’s not a good idea, because Perrie is going into labor and she’s definitely only about seven months pregnant as far as Louis knows and so this could be problematic. Plus they’re in a foreign country. So there’s that.

“My child is not going to be British!” Zayn shouts, trying in vain to throw a fourth bag under his arm.

“Well my child isn’t going to be Irish and you don’t hear me complaining!” Niall hollers back, swooping in to grab a diaper bag before it can hit the ground. Zayn throws a glare at him, but it’s an excited one. His eyes have this hint of gold in them that shows Louis this is the best day of his whole life.

“Are you okay?” Liam asks Perrie, throwing an arm across her back to support her as she winces in pain.

“Yeah,” she says, “I just think this is what contractions are. Bloody hell, this hurts like a motherfucker!” Liam looks like someone’s just ripped the head off his favorite teddy bear. And like he wants to fuck her then and there. Louis clearly needs to get laid. Preferably by Harry. And preferably soon.

“Louis, where’s the nearest hospital?” Zayn shouts at him, breaking him from his reverie. He takes a minute to process the question, but comes up empty.

“I don’t know,” he says, taking a shoulder bag from the clearly frazzled Niall and throwing it on the couch in the den. “I’ve never been, but I’m sure there’s one around here somewhere.”

“Not helpful!” Perrie screeches from the entranceway, where she’s half-doubled over, Zayn with one hand on her back and the other deftly tying her long blonde hair up.

“We need to focus,” Liam says, leaving a frantic Niall to basically spin in circles. “Perrie, how many months pregnant are you?”

Perrie grunts and scrunches up her face in pain. “Uh, seven and a half, eight? I don’t really-”

“She’s thirty-seven weeks in,” Zayn says, adding “Thirty-eight on Tuesday.”

“Okay, so as far as I know you’re not considered premature,” Liam says in an authoritative way that at any other time Louis would have found amusing, but now finds strangely comforting. “And you’re not bleeding or anything, you’re okay?”

“I can’t really see my vagina from this angle,” Perrie huffs, “so I couldn’t really tell ya. Somebody check for me.”

All five guys stop and look at each other for a second and then suddenly all of them have their fingers on their noses and it seems like somehow Niall got caught last and Harry’s laughing and Perrie continues grunting and Louis watches as Niall shuts his eyes and gets on all fours.

“Somehow I think you’re not gonna see a whole lot with your eyes closed, Ni,” Perrie heaves, and Niall reluctantly looks up her long skirt for a few moments while everyone waits with baited breath.

“I can’t-I don’t know-” he stammers. Perrie rolls her eyes and stamps her foot, missing Niall’s head by a handful of inches.

“Jesus Christ, can somebody just look at my vagina?” she shouts and the other four look at each other with apprehension.

“You know,” Liam says as he gets down on his hands and knees, “I do believe I’m the vagina connoisseur of this group, so I’d better have a look.”

Perrie groans again, muttering “Oh, stuff it.”

Liam puts his head up her skirt and says through the thick fabric “If you have any luck, I just might.” Perrie blushes scarlet and the other four exchange looks mixed with both disgust and admiration for his forwardness.

After a minute, Liam says “Yeah, I don’t see any blood, which is good.” Everyone breathes a sigh of relief. “And I guess this stuff is your amniotic fluid but-” Liam stops and pulls his head out of her skirt. “Is that what I think it is?” he asks, and Perrie flushes a deep red.

“Weird things are happening with my body right now, Liam, and I haven’t gotten laid in, what was it again, Zayn, thirty-eight weeks? Excuse my body for being overreactive!”

Liam just grins. “I told you, vagina connoisseur,” he says to the other four. Louis bites his lip to hide a grin and apparently that does something to Harry because suddenly he feels a hand slip down the back of his pants and-

“Aaaaaaahhhhowwhhhhh,” Louis gasps in a mixture of surprise and horniness. Everyone else turns to look at him and Louis just coughs, pretending Harry isn't currently fingering him.

“Okay, can we please get me to a hospital? There is a baby pushing its way through my cervix and I’d like some medical assistance,” Perrie says in a moment where the pain has apparently subsided.

“I can help you with the pushing through the cervix part,” Liam says seductively and Perrie winds up to slap him before he quickly ducks away.

“If I needed your dick I would’ve asked for it approximately nine months ago,” she snaps.

“He does have a big penis,” Niall says, to which everyone reacts with inquisitive faces.

“What?” Niall answers.

“Anyway,” Zayn says, “can we get this show on the road? Cause I’m pretty sure Perrie’s already more dilated than she was when she started this conversation and I’d prefer it if my baby wasn’t born in a shitty excuse for a flat.” He turns to Louis. “Sorry, mate.”

“No worries,” Louis says, and grabs his wallet off the counter. “Let’s hit the road, folks, we’re gonna have a baby.”

* * * * *

After the disaster that is trying to hail a cab when only two of the group members speak Spanish and one is trying to hold a baby inside of her uterus, they finally manage to get Perrie into the emergency room. Louis manages to scrape together the Spanish he knows, which is surprisingly more than he thought, to let the doctors know what was happening and that she was earlier than expected. Luckily for all of them, Perrie’s doctor happened to have gone to medical school in the United States and thus spoke English quite well. Louis breathed a sigh of relief. At least trying to communicate was something they didn’t need to waste energy on.

While they get Perrie prepped for delivery, the doctors kick everyone except for Zayn and Niall out of her room, and Louis and Harry wander down a long hallway while Liam goes to find some coffee.

“I swear, I thought she was gonna have that baby right in the middle of your flat,” Louis says after Liam leaves them.

“Yeah, somehow I think Zayn wouldn’t appreciate it if Arthur were dumped on poorly stained hardwoods,” Harry says.

Louis looks at him with one eyebrow cocked. “Who’s Arthur?” he asks.

“Oh, the baby,” Harry says casually, brushing his hair from his eyes.

“They named it already?” Louis asks after a pause.

“You know Zayn,” Harry says as a matter of explanation, and Louis just shrugs and nods because he does.

They walk a few meters more in silence before reaching a quiet dead end. They stop to turn around, but Louis grabs Harry’s hand.

“Look, Haz, I know I said this already, but I fucking treated you like shit,” he says, “and that wasn’t fair of me. Because you’re worth so much more than that, and you don’t deserve it. I don’t blame you if you still want to walk away, I don’t exactly deserve another chance after how I’ve acted.”

Harry reaches up and traces Louis’ cheekbone with his index finger. “Babe, I am so in love with you it’s kind of scary,” he murmurs. “You’re not perfect, and of course this whole thing is scary. The first time you fall in love with somebody like this, of course you ask questions of yourself. But I’m here, and I don’t wanna let you go.”

Louis leans over and kisses him before whispering “Me neither”.

Harry leans over and presses his lips to Louis’, running his hands through his tangled mess of hair. Louis feels like just that is enough to undo every knot of tension in his whole body. He starts running his hands down Harry’s back, ending up in his back pockets, cupping Harry’s ass through the fabric.

Harry moans into Louis’ mouth and presses his crotch into Louis’. He can feel how hard Harry is already, and he reaches down and palms at it over the tight denim. By this point, they’re basically going at it, grunting and groaning with every pulse against each other because it just feels so damn good and, well, it has been months.

Harry mumbles something into Louis’ mouth and Louis kind of grunts in a question, so Harry pulls away and murmurs “Supply closet, now,” slamming Louis into the door in front of them and grabbing at the knob until he pushes it open. It’s pitch black, but Louis fumbles for the light-switch and flips it, illuminating a single fluorescent lightbulb.

Louis grabs the front of Harry’s shirt and pulls him into him, grasping at the fabric and trying desperately to get it off him. Harry kind of giggles and pulls back for a minute, then in one fluid motion pulls the shirt over his head so he’s illuminated in the half-light, hair askew, slightly sweaty, panting ever so slightly, eyes clouded with something Louis thinks is lust but that seems so much deeper.

Louis grazes a fingertip over his chest, stopping to draw circles in his skin just lightly enough that Harry’s mouth is left in a soundless ‘o’ and his eyes squint closed before grabbing his chin and pulling their mouths back together. Harry reaches forward, blindly, not pulling away for a minute to see what he’s doing and rips clumsily at the buttons leading down Louis’ short sleeve button-up, managing after what seems like an eternity to Louis’ goosebump addled skin to get them all undone before letting it drop from his shoulders.

Harry runs his hands down the length of Louis’ torso, stopping at the light dusting of hair south of his navel, and skirts around his waistband. Louis can barely resist just ripping off his pants to free his throbbing cock trapped inside because it just feels too much like a tease but he wants to take in every single touch and every last contact between his body and Harry’s. Slowly, still tasting his mouth, Louis can feel Harry’s hands move further south until they’ve reached the button at the top. Louis’ erection actually makes Harry’s job easier because it’s jutting out, and Harry easily slips it through the eye and, reaching for the zipper, begins to pull his shorts off.

Now that Louis is in nothing but his boxers, which feel so fucking tight with how hard he is, his erection tenting the front at what feels like a right angle, he’s got to get Harry naked and he needs him naked now. With one swift motion, he unhooks Harry’s belt and pulls the zipper down, his fingertips tracing the length of Harry’s cock. Harry literally shudders into Louis’ mouth, transferring his body’s tremors into him, causing his pulse to flutter. Of course, because his jeans are always so bloody tight, Harry has to work them the rest of the way off, taking his damp boxers down with them. Louis just can’t fucking resist it anymore and breaks the kiss to sink to his knees and take Harry’s length inside his mouth.

Harry exhales for what seems like an endless period as Louis swipes his tongue over the head, licking up the salty liquid already present on the tip. He grabs the base and with the technique of an expert (so he’s sucked a lot of cock, call him a sinner and send him to Hell already) travels from root to tip, one hand cupping Harry’s ass as he feels his knees buckling. Harry gasps as Louis finally puts the full length of it in his mouth, remembering how good it tasted, wanting to have every inch of it, all at once, working his tongue over it while he sinks further and further down.

Apparently he goes too fast because suddenly he feels himself gagging and pulls back before he starts coughing, but Harry seems to find it hot because he grabs Louis by his hair and pushes him back down. Louis loves this, when Harry loses himself in the sensation and just starts using Louis’ mouth like this. He grabs Louis’ head and starts bucking against his face, moaning with each thrust into his mouth, Louis grabbing his ass and pulling him closer each time. He wants the whole thing, wants to swallow Harry, all of him. Louis runs a hand along his tightened alls and hears Harry choke out an expletive and knows he’d better pull back before he comes.

With a pop he lets Harry’s dick fall out of his mouth and licks his lips, eyes looking up at Harry with gratitude. Harry pulls him up to meet his face and presses his lips intensely against Louis’, the two of them rutting into each other. Harry’s cock is still dripping and Louis has soaked the front of his boxers, and he moans with gratitude when Harry finally slips them down.

“Bend over,” Harry murmurs and Louis gladly does so, bracing his arms on a shelving unit on one end of the closet.

Harry kneels down and spreads Louis’ ass wide, teasing his hole with a finger. Louis almost collapses against the shelving, he hasn’t been fucked in months and he’s tighter than he thought he was, and Harry just feels so damn good. And then Harry’s face is pressed against him, he feels his breath on his hole and then the warmth of his tongue licking in tight, imperfect circles, darting inside every once in a while. Louis feels like he’s going to pass out it feels so good. Groaning, he reaches down to touch his cock and finds a strand of pre-cum leading from the tip to the floor. Using it as lubricant, he rubs his hand over his cock and moans at how bloody hard he is. Gripping it tightly, he works his fist from tip to base and back again, slowly, torturously, so hesitantly that he’s almost banging his other hand into the wall cause it feels so good.

Harry keeps rimming him, humming into his ass, sending vibrations like he’s never felt through the length of his body. It’s like a bolt of electricity, and he gasps when it hits his cock.

He feels the warmth leave his hole and feels disappointed for a bit before he realizes Harry’s placed a wet finger at his hole and starts working it in knuckle by knuckle. Louis starts moaning, apparently pretty loudly, because Harry takes his pre-come soaked boxers and puts them in his mouth to keep him quiet. Harry inserts another finger and Louis bucks against him. He feels Harry working them in in slow, small circles, gently stretching him out.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he murmurs, planting a kiss on the small of Louis’ back. Louis moans into the boxers.

“Fuck me, Haz, please,” Louis half-moans, half-whispers.

“What’s that, Lou, I couldn’t hear you?” Harry teases, pressing a third finger into him. Louis gaps and pulls the boxers out of his mouth.

“I said fuck me, goddamn it, I want your cock in me.” He looks over his shoulder and sees Harry smile coyly before smacking Louis’ ass.

“Yeah you fucking want it. You’re gonna be my bitch tonight.”

Louis moans. “Fuck, Haz, I’ll do anything, just fuck me, please, I need it.”

Harry chuckles and reaches his hand into his mouth, pulling it back out before beginning to stroke his cock, lubing it up. After a few more cycles, he clearly thinks it’s wet enough because he lines up with Louis’ hole and begins to press in slowly. Louis gasps, his head going fuzzy. God, he missed this feeling, a cock slipping inside him.

“You’re so fucking tight, Lou,” Harry murmurs as he presses further in. Louis moans, he can’t do much else at this point. Moments later, he feels the warmth of Harry’s chest against his back and knows that he’s in all the way.

Slowly, Harry begins to slide in and out of Louis’ hole, Louis moaning with each thrust. Harry begins to pick up speed, thrusting in and out at what seems like once a second and Louis is moaning in time with it, louder and feeling like more of a bottom than ever before as he begins to thrust back onto Harry’s dick.

“You seem pretty eager for this,” Harry says, picking Louis up with a strength that surprises him. “How bout you do the work for a little bit?”

Louis sits up straight and looks down to see Harry lying beneath him, hands behind his head, hair half in one eye. Brushing it away, he rubs a hand down the length of his body and then begins to fuck himself with Harry’s cock, slowly at first, but picking up speed as he gets used to it. Soon he’s bouncing with all his energy up and down on Harry’s dick, loving the feeling of it hitting that magic spot inside him over and over again. Harry seems to like it too, because he grabs Louis’ ass and begins slamming him down on his cock over and over again, rough enough that Louis’ moans get that much louder but still with so much tenderness.

Louis can feel himself approaching orgasm, the cum rising up the length of his cock.

“I’m getting-I’m getting cl-close,” he sputters, placing both hands flat on the floor as Harry continues throwing him down on his cock.

“Come for me, baby,” Harry says. “Come all over my chest, I want it.”

With a moan, Louis feels everything tighten and suddenly he’s coming everywhere, semen shooting over Harry’s head, landing in his hair, and blanketing his chest. Louis can feel his hole tightening around Harry’s cock and with a moan Harry thrusts hard up into Louis and shoots inside him. Louis loves that feeling, knowing that his insides are slick with Harry’s cum.

Carefully, he gets off of Harry and flops down next to him on the floor of the closet, the two of them catching their breath for a few minutes.

“Damn,” Harry says finally.

“That was amazing,” Louis murmurs, wiping sweat off his forehead.

“Yeah it was,” Harry says.

“You know, we should really do that again sometime soon.”

“Well,” Louis says, propping himself on one elbow to face Harry, “I do have a bed that’s a little bit too big for one person but a little too small for two.”

“Meaning that I’ll just have to sleep on top of you?” Harry asks.

Louis laughs, leaning over to kiss him. “I have the smartest boyfriend in the world,” he says. Harry’s smile disappears and his eyes cloud over with something Louis can’t name.

“What’s wrong, Haz?” he asks. Harry takes a deep breath.

“Marry me, Louis.” There’s a period of silence, the two of them just staring at each other.

“Can I put some clothes on first?” Louis asks finally. Harry looks at the ceiling pensively.

“Yeah, that’s cool,” he says.

“Cool,” Louis says, lacing his fingers in Harry’s. They lay there like that, listening to the sound of their hearts beating together.

**Author's Note:**

> so anyhoo basic summary of this one is that i wanted to keep going on this story line cause i know a lot of you guys liked reading it and i certainly liked writing it SO i decided to go for it and write a sequel story!!! hopefully this goes in a good direction and all that but we shall seeeeee
> 
> i try to update every two weeks or so cause i'm always tired and i get sloppy and uninspired lol so don't be mad at me when there's no new chapter every fridayy
> 
> title from ellie goulding's "joy"


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